splattered

for her, there were his hands

always moving
making or fixing
caressing or 
filling her with desire

their lives a painting
with his portions
done with those fingers

colors of passion
aggravation and regret
splattering, smearing
constantly
everything

he left his life
splattered
all over her

then



he left his life

(“Splattered” – 6-9-2015)

perspective ridge

follow me over the motley rock, 
where the cattle sing and the bluebirds low,
follow me out past the hidden loch,
where geese and the gosling loves to go

follow me out to perspective ridge,
where we aim to go, but have rarely been;
where we see that connection is everything,
and that some, once lost, won't come back again