the music behind your grace

hangs effortlessly

bouncing off your eyes

ready to drop softly

amid hissing cicadas

into rows of summer’s wildflowers

halting time

is the evening wish

as the solstice waltzes in

if nights were days

and the moon

turns away

are you left with rays

of stars from yesterday

emptiness arrives instantly

caught without warning

a smile disappears into the blank space

broad strokes cannot cover the page

far from simple

an ocean does not feel the ripple

as you spill

the twisted reach of sorrow has caught you here

alone with everyone

someday it’s all gonna be beautiful

wear the mask to tell the truth

it’s easier that way

on the post rests the head

seeking medicine for the desolate soul

time it shall be

• 

swinging on vines

in trees of hope

towering above the earth

pledging time

to the undevoted

wishing it were true

water kissing parched lips

from days too long

settles the moment

on my doorstep

lies the wisdom

of tomorrow’s dawn

crossing delicate boundaries

protecting fear and confidence

chaos and quiet

loss and love

at a speed that stands me still

mired in unsure ground

not recognizing the step in front of me

the awkward depth awakes caution

waiting on tomorrow is always an option

when trust doesn’t arrive

• 

patina keeps the time

as scars tell a story

wisping clouds arch beautifully

hoping to relieve the drought

set in the cracked landscape

knowing loneliness is not healed

makes sense in pieces

one by one

my dreams keep from fighting

for one more night

• 

I am honored and so very appreciative to have a recent piece featured on Spillwords. Thanks to all for their support.
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Pages Torn Out

clouds of grey

slide by

    slowly

giving way to hope

twisted and tight

a heart stops to breathe

     alone

in the summer sun

exhaling deep

yesterday is gone

    quietly

as the light sparkles

awash in mountain streams

your tears run with mine

    cleansed

as a new pace welcomes the next chapter

happy and sad

and back again

    believing   

that mountains mourn as we heal