What laid me here atop this mountain so
: A collection of thoughts
Reared of only my dreams.
What beauty drove me to season’s edge
: Climbed ever higher
To divine what I knew cried.
What left me open
: Observing, witnessing, counting
Driving my layers of skepticism.
Why did I not hold my here heart
Though I knew it was you
Who held such precious space
For there it was
Forgotten with the dust settled in the corner
Yet overseeing neither bond nor collection.
You are the tenderness
As I move in this world
Sunlight
Hitting every curl
You are the sweetness
In every touch
So that when I hit the dirt
I feel its every moment
Into my bones
Calling me home
Like the kingdom inside
You are on the edge
(You are of this stone)
I unrolled my jagged edge
Splaying all my spine
Wondering if cool sunshine
Would wear away my points
To which I laughed the cruelest laugh
That echoed off the rocks
So then I took out my stone
Sharpening again
Resting much more assured
Cutting edge evermore.
It’s not enough to hear your name
– Flicker of hope in my eyes –
I want to consume your name
So each letter feels my tongue
Amidst a mouthful of visions.
I want to hold you to my pressure points
So the forging of our steel
Will create the finest edge
Any blacksmith has ever hammered.
And when my silence is dearly broken,
I want it to be your vision
That subtly slices open my vein
So that I have no separation
Between what you are and I can be,
Where long roads converge
And my stone hones your edge.
It is hard to escape the sadness that runs down the edges of this window
Soaked and spotted by the dark rains, so.
Even Spider who comes to visit plays a long, slow song
Nearly a single note with a cello of darkness.
How tranquil such existence can be
Back and forth Rocking Chair sits endlessly in solitude
Grayed and white cracks endure long years of neglect
That crumble even the greatness they once held in Master’s hands.
I am looking for something greater,
Something with meaning that enlivens the pale skin
Peering back at me through the long window;
I seek its desires by reaching out towards the sheen
But no enveloping touch returns, no embracing moment of reflection ensues
And all that’s left is a smudge that diverts my deepest intentions
Towards a solitude that knows no name.
You don’t have to remember me to spread your wings so wide,
Though the wind catches better at one’s thoughts when it floats away just so
For it is here that there is no breath anymore.
It has been and perhaps once again shall come again
So it is here that I’ll wait evermore.
For sense I needn’t rely
I’ve gone a long while without
They live within my holy vision
Foggy and departed
So far away, I’ve gone with courage.
A walk I took left me angrily
Fuming at the mouth;
What evidence did I have
To return to depth?
I needn’t tarry here too long
I’ve lost my dearest friend.
Windows took me to
A spot upon great vision’s edge
Dancing with friend’s I’ve lost
– How dare I come back here?
Though most dust had settled down
A whirlwind to my mind
Caught me plotting my demise
Caution off into wind.
Into a river my thoughts began
Rolling about rounded rocks
Like thunder crashing in the hills
I saw them swim away
Then my eyes began to drift
To the edge in shallow water
Reeds of various lengths abound
Floating happily amidst the mirth
Bubbles emerged from deep within
Darkness shadowed far regions
And to my mind, tranquility
A smile to my lips did return.
Take my survivor and hold it to the moon
Red in my hands and seeing double again
Mary and her shepherd man
Holding hands on the shore’s soft edge
The Chancellor and his Frankiphone
Perfect for you to see reflections again
Lost in to depths of softness
Splashing in moonlight
And my hands keep turning red
As I pull you into the moon
All I ever have and all I ever need
And this is everything I can give
Smoke veins to clear my edge
So will you follow me as my survivor
Though paths the moon discovers?
Patterns have become my edges
That take me past zones
And clearly defined counties
Hemmed in with bold lines
That stretch across pastels
And littered with dots
Describing populations
Along zig zagging lines
Connecting the dots
Neatly folded into a rectangular paper.
It drops the edge out of me
Silence and methods and
Misunderstanding
I don’t know the cost
But I know the me
The truth in me
And it comes out in droves
That burst upon parkades
And spills into pastures
To edges of your existence
To be forgotten
Muted
Stumbled upon and missed
And closed.
A box being closed
Yet so delicately wrapped
And ornately carved
It is almost fit
It should rest closed
Yet each edge
Reminds me I’m still here
Resembling
A fifty year old maple
With buttons on my shoes.