their there

He woke suddenly without reason.  Something reasoned him to consciousness.  He took stock.  White walls waiting for artistry life, simple furniture.  Window opened, fresh air flowing freely in the dark.  Birds were singing, a jungle of music of every type and nature.  The bed disheveled, he had slept restlessly.  The red light of the bedside clock red 3:38.  It was unusually quiet.  The bedroom door was closed.  The bedroom door is never closed.  And he remembered, she was there.  Her creativity, her sensitivity focused at night, when the soul noise of humanity slumbers and her mind can gain space.  She would close the door so as to shut his presence, so as to find her solace.  He understands and he will not disturb.

He woke suddenly with reason, from a deep slumber.  It is quiet, the flow of air from his open window empty of night sounds, of wildlife, even of insects.  His bed empty and unslept next to him, his reminder.  He has no bedside clock, only devices with clocks built into them.  The bedroom door is open, it has never been closed.  The time is indeed 3:38.  Her presence is out there, his dream brought her near.  Exploring her essence he finds nothing distraught.  His comfort complete his sleep he repeats. 

One day, her presence will be present and real, whoever she be.

She be...

These Peas

Arranged, a pattern of geese in formation, together they remain amongst the sauces and meat and squash and pasta.  These we will not sacrifice to our sustenance.  These will remain sweet and green to compose naturally to provide for future generations of insects and plants and food and animal.  These peas, this sacrifice, these peas, for future. 

Lunar Drops

She turned from white to yellow to the deep blood red orange of Valencia fruit.  Passing through clouds she first flattened and then widened extracted downward through a small opening at the bottom of each cloud streak.  The eye naturally tries to trace her shape but an illusion makes the bottom narrower than her top causing one to think she is being squeezed through a tiny hole.  She finished her descent impaling herself upon St. Mary's cross hiding as she did behind a cloud streak perfectly aligned with the church top. 

June 11th MoonSet

I have a great friend who shares the moon with me.  This moon set was especially beautiful.

tears for tears

attacked without warning it tears into the skull swelling the brain expanding the mind this searing pain repetitious.  the tears pour forth as thoughts of suicide do battle with the stronger will to thrive and make a difference.  this pain beating the man to submission rendering his strength and will a shaking shambles.  a shell of himself to build again.  day after day like clockwork it battles to empty this mind of the emotion and feeling learned.  hopes of love switched off scoured clean by a force intent on minding mind to simple reason.  feelings content a future desired purged from soul.  this mind fights for supremacy to overcome inertia for sake of connection, for sake of companionship, for sake of higher power.  forsake a path straight to an undulating road experienced to soul and souls connected.  these tears the price to combat the tears these wired connections struggle to hold… grow forth.

Coffee

This heart it soars when you are present, and is sore when you are not.  The remnants of your presence surround this existence.  Memory of your voice as it sings; songs of black birds and women artists loved and revered.  Stars fondly recalled their stories growth, reverence and the beautiful.  We stare share the lawn of leaves from heights and discovery.  Shared place, blankets warm of conversation of friends, potato salad, strawberry pie. 

And coffee.

Never emptied, held warm and close.  Strength in its brackish, mine clear yours sweetened with cream and cane.  Remnants left of memory we share.  Tears and heart, your aura I feel.  

Sad Eyes

We pull to the back of the truck. It's rear is different. In place of the usual double doors, to the right a solid wall, to the left a chain and drawbridge. As the wash begins to buffet we pull left and use the draft to begin our pass. The car slows when the benefit of moment succumbs to inertia of pressure. To the right, in slow motion, I gaze into the sad brown eyes with their Clairol lashes, each heading to their destiny in Brooks, on their journey to plate and palette.