Migrant

Rest your weary mind
My love
Rest your stricken heart

Permit time
Permit soonness
Permit fondness promised

When seasons change, as they will
When notes become no more
Permit the absence, too

Sunshine Peak

Once a mountain there was
And a woman most worthy
As any woman is

Taking aim, then falling away
With purposeful looking
Set sight on a different mountain

On being a different woman
And she is allowed
As any woman is

The Truth Is

Yesterday felt like that strange, suburban taupe that fleeing people paint their houses.
As if to differentiate they made it out from the color, as if that is the goal.

The brass-ring door knocker the badge displayed, front and luke-warm center.
So as to say only some are welcome to come a-knocking.

Dare to spend the sweat to tear down the white-washed fences, to bring in the yellow.
To draw the eye from the curb to the threshold, to inside where the warmth is golden-brown.

When should we gather, finally gather, at a light-lit table and see the truth is black and white?
Today feels like that.

Pathos

Mock the freeze

Write of it

Photograph it often

For when its sharp refreshment fades away

Your comfort from the warm, high ground 

Your concern kept at bay

Will taste of only salt 

And tears

And grey