For Time

We all fumble
in the sheer darkness
of the speed of one day’s time.

How were we supposed to know
at the breach of our birth
that we were meant to breathe deeply,
let our skin flush with life at that inhalation

and never stop running
for the grave of all clocks
would be nipping at our heels?

This shadow;
this coaxing back,

the ticking
of a vintage
taste of wine

disappears at the tip
of our tongues

and with the ceasing
of all laughter.

III

The fissure of a thought
collides with another synapse

and understanding becomes crystal
clear and bright as blue January.

You think no one
has ever thought
these exact random thoughts

until you find the journal
of your soul in another’s body
and trace the letters on the page
with your beautiful pen

and write a mutual poem
about the charm
of the number
three

and can’t help
but smile.

2.

The spark of you
is numb,

lost in the dramatically crisp night--
a storm that knocks you down

and leaves you
flat on your face,

wounded
and bleeding,

where no one knows
the visceral damage
that can’t be undone.

I gather your uncommon light
into my hands.
My breath coaxes the tinder
with the present moment
of new life.

One

On the first day
we count from one.

The singular force of nothing
simply stares us in the face.

Dare us to look in the mirror
and see who is looking back.

Open your mouth to speak
and listen to the sound released
like a wounded wild bird from her cage.

This time there is no one
knocking at the door asking to be let in.

The wind convinces the clattering branches
of the body to drop to the earth
and let the soul fly free.

The Last Hours

The sky clears

suddenly

as the year quietly closes her door

and we count our blessings--

everything we’ve lost.


We scramble,

shuffle,
sift

through the dust

of another year,

as if we’ll not get another,

and the honest truth

will be found

staring us in the face
eye to eye,

breath into precious breath,

as the sun awakens to new day.


For now,

it is enough

to place a hand
on the warm skin

of your breast;

chest rising and falling,

and feel
the loneliness
of a solitary heart.


For now,

it is enough

to notice the last hours

of silence and wine

and remember all

that will be left at the altar

of longing for endless

heavy days of all this humanity.