whirlwinds of life, of death
of the rawest emotion
swirled in slow-motion
or racing downhill
feet off the pedals
roller-coaster fashion
tossed in the ocean
viewed in wide-angle or inside-out
wrestling beasts internal, external
god-damned eternal
the moon is full, so am I
and yet....

Before I opened my eyes,
wrapped up in your arms
and in your heart
the strength of both holding me...
In that moment, that breath
I knew it was OK.
Not "will be OK",
but IS.

As the world crept in,
as I returned, so did the voices -
of fear, of doubt, of pain...
And yet, I keep that moment
clearly in my mind.
Fleeting though it was,
it was...
and is possible
to know it is OK.
Not "will be OK",
but IS. 

Break open
Release that grasp, that grip
that grounds you in this fear.
Let it go, let it break, let it breathe
then breathe...
Take it in, take it all in...
For the whole of the universe is one,
and your broken heart can hold it.

Sometimes being a friend feels like being a stormchaser's bodyguard

skies are dark, air is thick and heavy, no one sleeps... 
warning signs.... we should leave.
but they choose to walk the beaches, rope the wind,
swim in the churning sea,
a lightning rod in their embrace,
They're lost, caught up in the hurricane,
you reach for them, they can't see... 
hearts tossed like traffic lights,
shattered like sheet glass,
they're drowning in the surge,
unwilling to move to higher ground.
And your job is to listen.

Caribbean Sand


You're at the drawing table, drowning in sound
thick as honey, but not as sweet
dark words and rhythms leak through windows
saturate walls, stick to my shoes...
and in my head.
I swim beyond the music, to the couch on the shore
and I watch...
Strong hands, hot to the touch
skilled at lines and designs, shading and shaping,
until the secrets are revealed.
Intent on their work, charchoal dust settles into
wrinkles and folds, fingerprints on paper, on hearts
Hot to the touch.
Like Caribbean Sand
Thirsting for the sea...
So what is it that moves you, really?
You whisper...
The tide changes.

Deep within the ice cave beats a burning heart
Timelessly, patiently, tending to
the rhythm, the ember, the flame
Keeping heat and light alive
For someday
The weary traveler
Will find his way inside

Expand
grow beyond horizons
ever shifting
zig while the treadmill zags
follow the rocky trail to where it
ends at timber line...
Then venture on
into the heavy mist that hides
the summit
and the sun.