Candles lit

hot roaring flow

flickering lights, lapping water

steamy sighs till late night hours

soaking, calming, releasing tension...

down the drain cooling water flows.

sleepy yawns, brushing teeth,

bedroom calls.

Early morning

the room mates shriek

echoing off bathroom walls

...fuck...

I forgot my vibrator...

Again.

dry...dead...clear you away...

Let There Be More Room.

pluck out the non useful,

remove to make space.

overgrown, and forgotten...

Let There Be More Room.

lift, pull, break, and crush....

rake, hoe, sweat, till dirt

turn, and pour

fresh and new...

Let There Be More Room.

You're at my shoulder

digging deep,

tired,

aches and pain.

Green little ones

laid sweet in new beds.

watered and growing, fresh to bloom.

Let There Be More Room

December is around us soon to be gone...

in a slow flurry I am caught....

Inside I sit...

I watch....

caught behind the glass...

The bare branches....

confused flowers peep in ...

die out....

I miss the whispers...

the light reminders....

When truth was far away...

but now it is loud...

IT screams with silence...

absent things....

The cold outside,

masquerading in sunshine...

The voice is constant...

"He is going"....

"his pain"...

"His life"....

"Traveling away."...

"Your fear is fading" ....

"His fear is growing"..

I thought I had grown since spring,

but I feel like a winter flower.

today it is warm and my face is bright....

but no matter how the sun shines

it is December.

the frost will come,

and winter flowers never last to see the spring.

April is upon us

Spring has arrived to my City of Trees.

With every morning walk new colors emerge,

Scents of star Jasmin or Lindon tree

Sweet, stinging scents that float on the breeze.

I most often look up as I move deep in thought

perhaps of brunch, or love, work.....

My Father.

"He is very ill" My inner voice reminds,

but my feet don't seem to know

I skip or dance, picking flowers along they way

adding colors to my vibrant hair.

"He is fading" My inner voice whispers

in somber floating tone...

but my throat does not pay mind

I sing a Celtic tune

I speak to birds, to cats, to sky...

"But... He will never see you in white"

The voice sobs...cracks...

I stop.

I listen.

I pick up a twig that lays before me.

I move on.

"He..." The voice trembles...

shakes....

the rattle of a hundred leaves

The wind kissing my face

a small comfort to the words that follow....

"He will never know your children...."

My eyes hear this

I feel the tear

growing cold in the breeze

but my mouth will not listen.

it smiles.

I smile.

and I move.

Forward.

Knowing.

Hearing.

The voice speaks....

My voice speaks

"I love him, and he knows it."

The voice is at peace.

A wisp of me caught in a glass jar....

fluttering blindly. Knocking at the sides.

A soft glowing heart exposed for passer by.

"Poor little".....

"Sweet little"......

"Cute little."..........

"Bug".

Another flight. Another smack into clear walls.

I'll put you on the shelf, don't worry you'll have company.

Old pens....no ink.

Loose change...Some mail.

Dust draperies to hug your jar...

Little glowing wisp, out of sight.....

out of mind.

"Sweet little"....

"Sad little".........

"Trapped little Bug."