Truth To Me

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There were footsteps
Invisible, loud
Crushing at first
Then funny
What else was there to do but disbelieve
And laugh

Looking down 
There is purple and black
Walking away
Someone did come after all
To take and not rescue 
To take and take and take 

6am

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Innocent
I turn
Asking one more moment or more than one
Temptation again answers
With a question
Do I run my finger past Some Kind of truth
Risking
Waking you up to it
Or 
Do I find the place that gives you your space
To breathe
Morning’s breath 

Pitch

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In the pitch
There the quiet
Calm you can know
No sound from the city
None murmur from high

Field there what is true
Sown once
Though weeds wouldst to strangle
Harvest virtue 
Storehouses to share 

Summer In Winter

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Who told you?
Who said it should’ve been so?

The looming liar lurking?
A voice from the mount’?

Would that there’d been!
Oh that there’d be!

What harm would befall to let it all go?
And exclaim to the the everlasting, omnipresent silence:

There’s ink to the contrary;
Screaming loud and clear. 

So my skin -if none else- must tell the truth, dear. 
My hand, the fall, forced.