Cobalt skies tonight
Ripping through late summer memories
With little twinkling gremlins
And Grandma’s favorite afghan.
A sky so deep
Hearts are instantaneously ripped out
And thrown in sacrifice
Towards all that could ever be.
Where is a soul that cannot hold
A forevermore deep within
Silhouetted bits of a city
That can never sleep.
I want to swim in open waters
And feel sun upon my spine
As I practice aerobatics;
In time I shall take flight
With birds of sanctity,
Soaring with beautiful brothers.
Here I’ll claim my sight again
With an eye that sees it sees,
A heart that knows it beats,
A hand that feels it feel.
To a space that opens my chest,
My third eye to the sky!
To a lightness of my mind.
And the sun remains the same.
I fall awake into the absence of your hands,
Shaking dust into stray beams of sunlight
As I whisper back and forth
With my memory, so strong.
I pull your innocence into my heart
In every deep pull of Chardonnay
Quietly fluttering my anxious wings,
Slowly settling into unheard of figures
Delicately drawn by grand gestures
On blank slates of dust.
Your pulse is an imaginary prism,
Fixating between red, purple and rose,
Shifting with every passing moment
And lingering upon lips
Like a foreign accent.
How deeply can these hues beget
With winter’s sun
Hanging upon sky’s brow so low?
Three sides and full strides
From now until the end of time.
There is lavender
Dancing in prisms
Of our effortless hearts.
Waltzing in a sun kissed breeze,
While memories
Temporarily wash over
In happy sheep clouds
On a lemonade afternoon.
Sunsets are always so much easier for me to catch.
They don’t try to get up and sneak away like a thief,
They squabble and gobble and hiff and huff
Until they explode in the sky like a painted eye.
That, and I’m a night owl and the moon tells me secrets.
Being able to take over the heart of an ancient soul was creating pressure within the young boys heart.
He saw wisdom, he saw truth, but he also saw the windows of time shift from opportunity to rest, from an ounce of hope to pains that lifted one awake shortly after midnight.
A silent lake was a window.
Like glass, a heart is precious; always suspended at the edges of tomorrow picturing faint smiles and implied intentions.
Here the young boy clutched tightly to his grandmothers pointer finger, understanding conscious kindness in her forever eyes that always found his quietly.
They were together often for this reason, but also her lemonade tasted like sweet nectar.
He would remember this as time would slowly reduce rations of nectar but still filled full with every bit of love.
Only mid-summer’s sun and a lazy bumblebee were present as Grandma smiled and laid her head against the sun chair, closing her eyes.
The young boy drew a shape of a heart on the dusty table top before he walked down the steps and out into the yard where he found his foot soldier, Rusty, the valiant family golden retriever that kept watch over the young boy while Grandma rested her smiling heart – shaded, but in the sun.
The Elegantarian floats on my memory,
Through wisdom and mercy
And dandilions caught in wind wasps.
And like these delicate pages
That curl around my intrigued thoughts,
I follow the trail of dust caught in sunlight
To the end of my memory
Where my lone pen carries onward.
A loon is like quibbler’s spoon
Lost amongst a star lit moon,
For every motion
Is quite awoken;
A beach of a tranquil loon.
Never forget words you spent
Diving deep and letting go.
For as wind kept at your bent,
Swiftly guiding you onward and forth,
Little swaps of serendipity
Began to form about your brow,
Which has done a tremendous amount
To curl the ether about you now.