somehow

These are fragments of life;
I’m not sure any of this makes sense;
Still, these pieces seem to fit together somehow.

Somehow.

And what of it?

How do we connect the dots?
All of this,
every bit of it!

We might call it life,
But how do we come to accept these pieces
And make them whole?

So what does it all mean?
What are we supposed to make of it?

Have you seen
My thinning hair?

I have too.
I know you’ve noticed.
And,
My wrinkles or my tired eyes?

“Ok, yes,
these are pieces.
I understand.”

Somehow,
We’ll keep insisting,
that somehow,

they all fit together.

 

 

sandcastles

children run along the shore,

their laughter heard over gentle waves.

they wade into the icy water,

unfazed by its sting.

their voices are full of energy

carried by the wind.

you can see joy in their eyes,

their innocence reminding us of something we once had.

when did that change?

when did we start to feel the ache in the air

and notice the cold settling inside us?

when did we pull back from the water

and touch it with cautious toes?

almost as if we are afraid of what it might remind us of.

when did we stop making sandcastles?

and forgiving the tide for washing them away.

when did we forget how to let ourselves get lost

in the quiet joy of pretending?

colors

My body holds memories.
I sense time slipping by
through my fingertips.
Sometimes I lie awake
and trace the lines
that reveal my story
in the thickness
of my gut.
or I wander in
my dreams
looking for colors
that belong to things
I’ve forgotten.

ink

i dreamed last night.

i couldn’t find my pen.

wait, that’s not quite right.

i didn’t really lose it.

it was just hiding from me.

that’s different.

i couldn’t write anything.

my fingers felt tangled.

and without it,

nothing made sense

at all.

maybe this sounds confusing.

but it isn’t.

in my dream, i woke up

and saw the pen

was in my bed, and it had burst

now i was covered

in thick ink

that flowed over my body

and eventually into my mouth.

when i tried to speak,

i gurgled

and jumbled

and tangled thoughts

spilled out of my mouth.

the old tree

A tree stands and waits with patience.
Its trunk is full of gnarls,
like the fingers of an old person.
It stands, faded by the sun,
having seen many years go by.
Days and nights
move around it.
We look up at the blue sky,
so rich and clear,
and sometimes forget what we truly need.
We forget to be patient

Get out of the way
old tree!
I want to see the sky.

But the tree remains patient.
During the day,
it marks the earth
with the movement
of the sun
across the sky,
never rushing,
just letting things be,
moment by moment.
At night, it stands
almost like a guard,
keeping watch,
waiting.
It never complains,

You are gray today,
bring back
Your blue sky!

If it cannot
mark the earth
like a sundial,
it simply waits,
gnarled and old,
just as it did yesterday
and as it will tomorrow.

time

This is time.
Cedar shingles
tell the story of seasons,
weathered and gray.
an unasked question.
a hint of passion
left unresolved.
Time heals
in scattered pieces.
Small fragments
of a face
once kissed and
now forgotten.
Time is a name,
one called out
in a dream
and unanswered in
waking life.
This is time.
a boy full of innocence
becoming a man
far too soon,
holding steady,
offering shelter,
holding words.
Time hasn’t moved,
only the distance
from my fingertips
to yours,
from my mouth
to your body.
This is time.
a face
aged by life,
wrinkled and worn,
with eyes
that burn with
fearful intensity.
a gift given by time,
Only by time.

unseen

you are gone,

time cannot hold on to what it once held.

you’ve seen this before,

somewhere

we were together here,

just like lovers are,

unseen by anyone.

you drift away,

lost in dreams.

gone

but time still brings you back.

lovers remain in time,

in dreams.

memories still kept close.

you and i,

lovers kept in time.