A Poem in Four Acts

i.

goodmorningyou, hesitant to

greet(how you put up a fight)the

waking world,

tangled in cotton protectors,

strands everywhichway,

blockading those pools i adore,

with vocal chords only

capable

of quiet(content)eruptions;

ii.

to goodafternoonyou, adventurous

and bursting through the

metaphoric(literal)walls,

absorbing the seasonal sun

and passing breeze,

toes wriggling with(in) their

unwelcome confines,

dashing forward

at the speed of something in

be

tween

lightandsound;

iii.

to goodnightyou, connecting

with the

out-there-world before

wrapping me up in everything you

are,

heating my skin with your skin(i've

good circulation),and

mingling my breath with your

breath,

until we come together in

ways only we can(only you,only me),

hesitant to leave each other's

head(how we put up a fight),as

we tangle ourselves in cotton protectors

and each other,

our vocal cho(harmonious)rds only

capable of exhausted(arduous)eruptions;

iv.

to everyyou that i can manage

to find,

and how i adore

eachandeveryone

down to the most miniscule(microscopic)cell

in this tired body

with all of my might.

Jaws Theme

to stay afloat

in a sea so intent

on letting(demanding that)you drown

is just asking for trouble

for which no one is really

prepared(as if they can).

but kick harder,

won't you?

paddle stronger,

won't you?

tread the water.

stay afloat.

stay alive.

A 10.0 on the Richter Scale

it's in the way

i can curl up

i n y o u,

like an old familiar story.

it's the way

you warm me

like a cup of steaming

tea,

enveloped by

chilled fingers.

it's the way

you call to me,

i the navigator

with a compass

that points

home.

it's the way

you find me

when i am lost,

tugging gently

at the laces of my

shoes to bring my

feet back down.

it's the way

i love you

when you steal my words

and steal my breath,

that i know that

no matter what the world brings

and no matter what the world steals

and no matter what the world is,

things,

you,

i,

us,

are going

to be

okay.

Fly Away Home

to feel at

home

in a place so far from

the dwelling, officially termed,

to feel a

love

in a place overflowing with

strangers and unfamiliar faces,

to feel that

peace

in a place as tumultuous

as anywhere to Timbuktu,

to feel a

"something"

that has no name but

is stronger than the Himalayas,

to feel a

loss

at having once found it all,

hoping one's feet will somehow

wander back to those

cobblestone paths

and overgrown mews,

to the "ou" instead of "o" and "s" instead of "z,"

to the dreaded prawn-flavored-everythings,

to the seed that has found its landing,

knowing that if it only had the chance,

with perhaps a bit of sun and

a bit of water,

it could blossom into

something

spectacular.

I Am No David

an empty page

is more intimidating

than Goliath,

as it beckons you

to fill it, to satisfy it,

and when your pen

has run out of ink,

and your mind has

run out of thoughts,

what choice do you have

but to

surrender?

Cyclical Motion

the trickling stream is

destined for greater things;

poured into the sea and into the bay,

tripping into the ocean and then

upwards to the sky,

only to come back down to its

humble, bubbling brook.

so are we, destined for greater things,

always meant to come back

to where it all began.