#June

for everything that never was,
for miracles that never came,
for childhood by terror marred,
for shadow creep, and ruby stain,
  
for daymares and for friendless weeks
that stretch out to eternity,
there comes a time for packing up
your few last things
and nameless

need

She sat out on the roof and watched
The city in its sadness;
I used to see her every day,
As we had each our habits —

I loved her like the robins sing,
With no real audience —
But she was broken-hearted, then,
And has been since.

For though she kept her lookout true,
Continuing, unwearied,
She never found what she had lost,
Though it was never buried —

I saw her like the seagulls see,
Just circling the distance —
But she was fractured, incomplete,
And has been ever since.

For though we sit atop a roof
To leave behind our cargo,
We cannot get above it all —
Not in this world

Of sorrow

This is the me that is;
That is the you that was —
Life is a lonely tree,
And we didn’t last, because

An ocean is made with time,
And continents drift apart —
Now, this is the me that is,
A weary and bending

Heart

Trouble is my constant diet,
Heartache is my steady flame;
What I eat and who I hang with —
Everyday is much the same

Stress is what I have for breakfast,
Pain is with me nights in bed:
This is what my life is, really,
Or it might be yours

Instead

turquoise churn and rocky spray
love has left and gone away
from where there are no returns
the ocean cools what summer burns

flying spray on turquoise sea
love, what you have meant to me
then hopes upon the rocks were dashed
for we like summer waves

just crashed

how love you are and so I know
the river sounds an evening bell
a zip line I don’t think I’d try
(and given this, it’s just as well)
but though the water’s blue and gold,
it is my sudden past you hold:
the rapids flow, the world goes by,
and summer walks can purify

Come, look into the future, see
The winding road of destiny
That bears us to we-know-not-where
Across the wide tomorrow

It’s nothing like the trip we’ve known,
And there’s no map that can be shown
To where all we will stop ere there,
No compass we can borrow —

And days we feel like all is choice,
We’re worried that we’ll blow it;
But now’s an evanescent thing
And gone before we know it —

Whatever road we hap to choose,
The way’s not really ours to lose:
The sun will soon be falling,
The wide tomorrow’s

Calling