My House Talks

Late at night or in midday,
this house creaks and moans
and drives me mad.

There is no end to winds or rains
or coldness
or blankness.

Sum Zero

When life blurs like watercolor blue-gray
it should mean nothing to me.
- As it does to you. -

My heart doesn't work like that.

I do not count backwards when
I find reminders of sore spots
Or when we rise like combatants.

I do not let shadows mingle with light
and I will not count back to zero.

Chasing the Sun

Forbidden by brown and gray,
earliest light is in winter repose:
awakened briefly, a wind-runner caught
on a distant line, strayed to the horizon,
stayed in the night.

Restless like September's song,
We live a ragged existence on the warmth
Of forgotten failures and continued aspirations.

Summer Sun

When January subsides, still resides
within the confines of recent memory
I am twisted and torn between
its solace and the warmth of the summer sun.

She persists, exists, to rue me
Undo me with her witting charms
But winter winds interfere,
catching a stray hair - pulling it out of place

She tucks it safely behind her ear,
Lost again but she continues with the fickle game.
The invite of her smile
reminds me of the summer sun.

She pulls her hair into place again
And it settles for a moment
-But I remain restless and unsure,
Ready for the Summer Sun.

Sunlight

Climbing and burning
It tries to shake the shiver out

Climbing and blinding,
there's something it tries to say.

Climbing and warming
whispering small riddles.

Climbing and driving
and climbing and reminding
and climbing and burning
and climbing and climbing and
letting me figure out
what I have been trying to deny.

In time, even the warmth of sunlight fades
in spite of need. The quiet moment when
Sun touches earth cannot be stopped,
As nimble as we are.

Fading and fading and gone.