January 22, 2018

Peering down
Into the blue,
I lean forward
Letting gravity
Take over.

As the light fades
At lower depths,
The pressure is
I strain my ears
To hear the sound
Of waves above.

I may speak the
Tongues of whales
But when I listen
To voices among
The tide pools,
Their messages
Are always lost.

With each layer
Of ocean that I
Pass through on
My path into the
Endless abyss,
My eyes gaze in
Both wonder and
Horror at what
Travels here
Down below.


Lost in Transit

September 29, 2012

Every singular thought,
The ones in passing, of course,
But also those late at night
When I’d stare up at the ceiling
And wonder how you’ve been.

Every smile, brought to life
Just from something you said
Or some random picture you
Took; your thoughts dangle
In space like fireflies.

Every sigh, many of them
After you spoke to me for
The first time again, every
Ounce of carbon dioxide
Exhaled carefully in.

All of these, together,
Condensate into that one
Empty envelope
That I never sent you.
But none of my words,
Because they’d just
Get lost in the mail.



June 16, 2009

My relief was taking my sandals off
And letting the grass caress my soles.
Summer’s recent spotlight of heat had
Turned the front lawn into a crunchy field
The color of cinnamon sugar.

My small escape served to remind me
Of the things I have to hold onto;
When I find myself at tomorrow’s doorstep
And returning to the bed I left last year,
Bringing a sense of solace and solitude.
Both halves of my heart taking
An extended leave of absence,
I have no choice but to recall
The way the seasons change us.
Although my Company might go off
On their own solstice adventures,
When the autumn comes to remove
Nature’s sunburned outer layers
It brings with it a renewed anticipation
And the harvest of friends new and old.

A turn in the wind’s trajectory
And somehow I can taste the blue
Strokes of light blending seamlessly
Through the west wind’s fingers,
Taking what little dread I have left
Away from myself so that once
I wake up from the warm sleep
My first glance to the horizon
Makes me smile a tiny grin.

A frayed rope hangs silently below
The archway, as the last thing I see
Is the back side of white sails
And ash grey skies.