Thursday, September 19, 2013


we wait for time to run out
robotic and methodical
propelled by the swing in our step.
when did we forget?

and how do we unlearn
how to fear regret?
to set free
the evaporated imagining?

finding comfort in
the tempo of faucet drips
and in tracing designs in dust
with our fragile finger tips
we contemplate
the shape we have in mind
for the marking
that we will inevitably leave behind.

yet words unsaid
hang behind tight lips.
and bravery ages into
all we've come to miss.

and held breaths
with careful steps
become a dance around the edge
of what has to be let go of.

there's no ahead
and no behind
there's just where we are
and the distance,
once unguessably far
is now so intimate,
it seems to be holding our hand.

there's strength to stand
as the falsified defense
grows paper thin
dissolves is our closed hand.

it is then we become
trespassers into the wardrobe
of our disappointed hopes
while we wait for time to run out.

Wednesday, September 18, 2013


melt into its lightness, 
embrace its unbearable weight.
do not hesitate,
or over-contemplate,
or reevaluate.

the roots run wild.
transformation to a wisp.
a greater reality
and anonymous.

let it consume
leaving no wiggle room:
it’s self-preservation.
let death meet any reservation
of the bittersweet revelation
of amber desert dunes.

no going past the calling.
stop the grasping,
stop the stalling.
dusk settles in,
a veiling blindness,
until sight is chosen.

lock away the treasures,
they are fine to keep,
are allowed to stay,
but there is no revival,
no reanimation,
no option to replay.

understand the dreadful grace
a blessed, painful space.
a gentle phasing,
with seamless weaving:
a hymn for greater praising.

Tuesday, September 10, 2013


let it become nothingness
this carnival of echoes
dance of dying embers
a fire decayed to smoke.
the distance back to that place
is now but a guess
the path non-traceable
with the crumb trail scattered.

but i still look on for it.
even though i buried it,
was present for it’s final breath.
yet gazing at the horizon,
unspeaking in an applauding silence
i wonder.

we’re raised to believe
that there are right
and wrong choices
but it seems more likely
that there is no wrong
just directional differences.

my feet shift uncertainly
wanting to stay,
wanting to run
restlessness, fearing movement
i think too much.
and thinking is paralysis.

despite my efforts
i remain a capsule
fossilizing forgotten things
undocumented items
anonymous moments:
wind dancing across shoulder blades.
the sound of falling leaves.
words unspoken.

can you over-treasure the discarded?
i hoard up the orphaned memories
that go homeless
and they seep down
intertwine with the marrow of my bones.

i think i hear You
i think i listen
but maybe i need to ask less questions.
maybe the questions are too loud.
maybe i need to drink in uncertainty.
maybe i need to become dauntless.

somehow i see better in the dark
see where You’ve called me
see well where i fell apart
it’s there that things learned in Light
root deep down
becoming petrified wood.

Thursday, September 5, 2013


the woods must have been Your first sanctuary
for the forest contains the melody
of time forgotten, time dissolved, time lost.
and the harmonic dissonance of necessity stripped down
to bare simplicity, is here valued as a worthwhile cost.

the subtle scent of sap and pine
form the perfume of perspective regained.
and in the woods the sound of silence survives
as a tangible yet utterly indescribable thing.
perhaps this is the only place left it still thrives.

altitude becomes a salve,
strained breathing the antidote to ceaseless activity
as the switchbacks demand forced slowness.
suddenly aware of the life lost when preoccupied with living
we realize doing less requires a certain boldness.

and Your breath comes as the wind
causing conversation among the evergreen branches
wiping away the audial veil, the deafness drape
and we hear You in startling clarity
and see You in every detail of the unburdened landscape.

the distant peak across the valley
it’s grandeur an illustration of our smallness
at once both threatening and fragile
since contradiction finds balance in Your artistry
and this is only learned through many-a-laborious mile.

the woods must have been Your first sanctuary
for the forest contains the solitude of thoughts
a forgetfulness of progress at-all-costs
and the rhythm of existence alters to the tune of:
“not all those that wander are lost.”