If I Hold My Breath

If
I place my foot
just so

I make a hole

There is a place
at the end of my walk
that is an eternal puddle
sometimes a pond
but that may be
a dream

My ugly brown
boot
can make a hole
or a splash

or a dream

and I lose
myself
in thoughts
of microcosm/
macrocosm

and wonder
how many storms
did I start today

in my empty
universe

and if
I hold my breath

can I stop
the apocalypse

13 January 2019

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Fading Memories

The rain falls
my lips soften

Slowly
I remember
to breathe

Waiting
for my world to stop
and the sun to rise

fading
memories

like ripples
in your pond
before it freezes
for winter

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Sometimes healing…[fifteen words]

Sometimes
healing
is surviving
and climaxing
in loving
and falling
and the touch
of you

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Seasons Slip

My foot slips
and I slide
the thundering sound
of tumbling rocks
blinds me
until
I can no longer see
or dream
you

My mind slips
and I fall
and curl
into myself
making
the gutter my home
as autumn leaves
cover me
waiting
for the green man
to claim me
again

and I spit
and claw
resisting
fighting
refusing
to surrender
even as death
taunts
until I forget
to breathe
waiting
for snowfall

26 September 2018

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Just This Once

And if
tomorrow never comes
will we remember?

I am dancing
with a rolling log
beneath my feet
bathed in starshine
and moonglow
with the sound of surf
in my ears
and just this once
I think
I can touch the sky.

24 August 2018

Something New

I’ve been looking
for something
new

I want every day
to be the first day

Beginner’s mind
the zen masters call it

Every breath
a beginning
every exhale
a letting go

I get lost
on the road
beneath my feet
where everything
is teeming with life
while my laboured breaths
reek of death

And still I walk on

Looking for something
that feels like a brightly plumed bird
beating its wings against my heart

Is it you?

16 July 2018

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She Lay Waiting

she lay
curled in upon herself
more spiral
than fetal
more sudden stillness
than feral beauty

the forest floor
was damp
with decomposing
birth and death
may-shine slipped
through young
summer leaves
danced across her
naked form
adding light
and shadow
to the streaks of dirt
and blood
painted on her skin
as though
she were nothing
more than a canvass

and so she was

a sleeping
summer
art form

waiting

17 May 2018

Shamrock Forest
Shamrock Forest, Decatur, Georgia