From Defeat

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Gingerly
Silently
From a place of respect
From defeat

Not yet ready for the early morning lack
The streets still littered with the chaos that ensued
I close the door

From the other side
I ask, To Whom can I turn

He tells me Yes, and shepherds me to sunlight

Cure

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The clock, alarming and as a storm, swirling seemingly sideways
Faster, more red and ominous than my 1am pro·pri·o·cep·tors

The gyroscope, spinning and my brainy mind righting itself
Stronger, my legs are and I swear to all that Is holy, I’ll not fall

Baseball

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I don’t want to live this yet, Springtime

For, every time the birds and bees and all manner of creatures and things -good sports and bad- migrate back

There’s the media storm, the tough talk, the hype, the great expectations placed in the wrongest of wrong places

So I will close my eyes and wait, Springtime

Nevada-California

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Left alone, on an empty grey pier on a lake on high, a warm windstorm making its way through her hair, its force able and willing to carry her away to further aloneness somewhere, and she, sufficiently calm and willing, is nevermore afraid…never more.

Mormon Row

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With grateful paintbrush in hand, I am leaving space for you

A beautiful a background, careful, I capture the sun

Find now open an area broad enough and close enough to the sky

That your shoulders might fit and comfortably give rest to what is

I know not the shape of you, tho’ your colors, you’ve made clear

Bright-dark weathered patina that complements my tempest greens

Vivid chards of amber to offset my mountainous blues

Your easy frame an open window, a willing respite

Fighting your way, straight to the foreground of me, for me

Withstanding, will they find us, the very wildest of climes