turned inward,
 much that passes by
 goes missing:
 but outward,
 she often finds the real her,
 flying through new skies
 so much more
 than relationships,
 and yet less:
 finding place
 in the realization that
 'place' is relative
 sing of love:
 find your own music.
 sing your song,
 just for you.
 then let your voice float over
 the eager and sore  
 what gets lost
 when we lose ourselves
 is more than
 subjective --
 how do we find our way home
 without having one?

a little awestruck

 a great blue
 over a pure gold
 flecked with red
 the fall, like water,
 flowing through the traveler,
 returning gladness
 a welcoming place,
 wreathed in autumn's calm glow,
 where the walker stops
 hearing finally the voice
 that reminds him that good is
 by a pond,
 trees like new angels
 spreading wings,
 scattered leaves
 on the mirroring surface --
 cerulean day