Poem

Listen

to the rain

it is the voice

of spring

sweeping

winter’s ashes

revitalizing everything

listen

to the rain

another day

is coming

its fingers

on the windowpane

nervously drumming

listen

to the rain

it is not always sad

do not listen

to me

i have nothing

more to add

poem: heart beat

the first time

you heard

your heart beat

did you know

you were complete

or did you

go looking

for another

assign it

to a string

of lovers

and when

you were done

following it about

did you modulate it

count it out

what is it

about that sound

that resonates more

than any word

that is

so intent

on being heard

 

poem

in a climate of hunters we became prey. out in the headlights we lost our way. did you not see the signs. did you see the threshold. once we were crossed, we forgot we were bold. time was much louder then. as were we. could nothing restore what we meant to be. no escape. no remorse for our public display. living. working. dreaming. the hunters are on their way.

poem

this is
where i am today

not beyond
or between words

though they may
seem too small

they contain me
just as you do

and yet

i take as much space
as i can

and yet

you expand

until I am gathered
safely in

dreaming of
new words

to contain you.