Dreaming of Things Falling Apart

This time it is a surprise to you
that you remember the dream
of your white teeth
falling from your mouth,
past your lips and down
the drain that used to be
your body

or possibly this is the dream
where you have taken apart the machine
that mows the grass joyfully
in the heat of summer
and you carefully wrapped the pieces
in cloth
like the dead.

It might be that someday soon
sleep will find you at home
alone in your comfortable bed
when you will again dream
you have lost your way
in the pounding ache of darkness;
the haunting drumming of the punk
you may or may not have played
as a kid.

It doesn't matter. It is only a dream.

Night in this chapter is the shadow of the mind
that tries to control your breath with shackles,
racing ahead of you with the skeleton keys
jangling in the pockets of your head;
making your rush
where you would rather
crawl under the warmth
of the heavy cover
of morning
and into
all that
pink and yellow
light.

Let yourself
close your eyes and jolt;
jump out of the frame
of this scene--
an old film
crumbling,
falling apart
on the floor
of your expectations.

Falling Feather

The heart is tender,
broken in the sound it makes.
A feather falling.

A String of Beads

String each breath together
like a strand of beads;
prayers for the moment
in which we live.

I am silent
but for the mind
that must travel
to places I've never been
and into the future
where I might never
arrive.

Patient,
the cool, smoothness
of the body pauses
smiles between my thoughts
and my clumsy fingers
and narrowly
escapes--

the light of the half moon
laughs as she dances
in spite of the racing clouds
and abundant stars.

Morning, she realizes suddenly,
is just over
the next rise.

Crocus at Twilight

Reach over and turn out the light
on the day that is leaving us,
my Love,
blue twilight escaping
into the January snow.

We have worked hard
side by side
shoveling away the grief
of our lives,
and now we must rest
nuzzled against each other.

Kiss me sweetly, just like we did
in the spring--while we held the hand
of hope
with the wonder of the crocus
against the cold.

Oh the crocus: so much like our hearts
need to be;
beautiful, strong
ready to risk exposure, fragile.

Hoping, beyond hope, that the troublesome snow
will melt quickly
so that a new season can begin,

new and noticed
by those who are looking
carefully.