always moving, always changing, 
centered in a universe 
others may find strangely present, 
ranging like a shepherd's purse, 

aftermath, and mid-september, 
dark and light in mixed array -- 
always moving, always changing, 
always something more 

to say

In all the years and pictures, 
In all the days and ways, 
There's always, living, what there was 
That set my life ablaze 

I cannot quite explain it, 
It lives within me still, 
And though it sometimes burns me, 
I'll never get 

My fill

I liked her when I saw her, but 
Was old enough to know 
That what seems right may not be right -- 
That looks are sometimes show. 

But when I spent some time with her, 
I found a heart and mind above -- 
I liked her when I saw her, true. 
But it was knowing her meant

Love

sometimes, the sadness steals away her heart. 
there's things inside her i don't, and can't, know: 
for though i love her, there's a separateness 
that closeness keeps, both precious and untouched. 

there are no words to cheer, no balm to heal: 
there's only presence: doing what we can 
and trusting that means something, in the end, 
since faith is what we have at hand to use. 

When autumn comes, then you and I 
Can get away from all this mess: 
We'll sit somewhere, beneath the sky 
In blessèd, peaceful, idleness, 

And taste the wind, and smell the sound 
Of what it means to silent be, 
When there's no noise or crowd around, 
And we can just be you and me.

When autumn comes, we'll find a way 
Into, out of, and off beyond; 
Inquisitive, and natural -- 
The grass, the sky, the leaves, the pond -- 

For somehow, in our daily-ness, 
We've left off much for little gain: 
When autumn comes, then you and I 
Can reason leave to find 

Our sane