---

∴

it is not a steep step up,
this hoisting onto higher ground.

it is a weightless and natural elevation
when we leave the luggage of self-loathing,
and the rotten paper bags –

the armored sacks of self
from which we dole out derision
and disparaging remarks –

on the ground.

 

just leave them.
on the ground.

 

they too,
like the bones
that carried all the burden,

will decay
and be gone
in time.

 

and on this new plain,
the horizon will widen
before our eyes
to a great expanse.

 

to know

that beautiful map was there

all the while.

 

o, and the company!

welcome we,
to the host of great cheer
when we see and know
all that is ever
and ever
and ever

here.

∴

 

 

 

---

 

---

∴

who were you,

my love,

 

before you believed

you weren’t?

 

remember.

∴

 

 

---

 

---

 

∴

and in the dark,

when i stumbled
and snuffed out lights
in spite
and chide at myself
for not being light enough,
alone,

You were there.

 

and in the dream,
where i felt love
as how it is impossibly had,

You were again.

 

and in the early morning, now,
when night drawn shapes
diffuse their towering terror
by the diffused light of dawn,

You are here,

 

growing globe of day –

of day –

leaving only one star
in the indigo sky
to remember
the deep
and learning night by.

∴

 

 

---

 

---

∴

growing
in love
is as in trees.

our trunks,
always upward gazing,

and branches,
only multiplying,

over years.

 

our arms become
further in reach,
greater in number,
and alive to the pulp,

from the large and old limbs
to the sweet, new sprigs.

 

though winters
may rob us our decorations
and many waving flags,

 

we grow

and wait

for resurrection green.

∴

 

 

---

 

---

∴

come walk
barefooted with me

along this razor edge of earth and sky

 

where the man –

 

who endless digs
in definition of himself,

to find

to find

to find

his deep treasures
and bury them back again
for fear they’d be stolen
or mocked,

or who otherwise
altars his work in vain,
with polish
and rub,
and shine and display

for the small stones
he’d pulled from the ground –

 

sees the shape of himself:

 

shadow and light,
as real as a cloud,
opaque,
but not solid,
a form,
unfixed,

and every color undulating
until washed
by its muting mixing

and rests to be

 

indescribable.

∴

 

 

---

 

---

∴

what The Heart
would say,
if i would but lend 
an ear:

 

just

let

go.

 

 

let go of

 

needing

 

to be loved

so that I may love you,

freely.

 

 

let Me
love you.

 

let

go,

that you may grow,

as large as I am

and filled.

∴

 

 

---

 

---

∴

you cannot begrudge the colors from coming

whose change is ever steady,

nor can you stay the little deaths

that must,

like leaves,

shed from us

as snake skins and old matter

that mattered once

but must let go.

 

stand here,

on the edge of wind,

and watch with me

as they fly;

little tornadoes of yesteryear’s trees,

sweeping up in memory

what once was

and cannot be again.

 

will you dare with me?

 

to wait out winters’ crisp unknowing

and enjoy

with joy-filled sorrow

the colors

we cannot keep

from coming.

∴

 

 

---

 

---

∴

there are many blessings
meant
to come through you.

and if they come through you,
then they were not made by you,
and should not be stopped
or siphoned
as to your mood
or sway.

the route of blessing
is a thoroughfare
and in rapids’
current
given.

though they may look like you
and sound like you
and you may want to take the shape
of such makers
as blessings are,

they are fireflies in your sight,
not to be owned,
but pointed to
with exclamation
as they flash in the night.

 

wish upon stars you solitary see
but forget you not
who the granter be.

∴

 

 

---

 

---

∴

tis a dangerous thing:

to be right.

 

it would occupy with pride

the house where love ’d reside.

 

so, right

and lonely be

 

or real

and known by me;

 

how will you go,

my love?

∴

 

 

---

 

---

∴

off we march
and into the woods –

us fine lumber jacks
and janes –

with our lanterns and saws
and just enough bravery
to stay the essential step
ahead of fear.

our winches for to pull,
our wedges so to hold,
and weighted, watchful, warning eyes
to look upon the trail.

 

it is good to clear the path.

 

to make a way in this wild,
and move on,

to move on…

 

it is rewarding
and backbreaking work.

 

but to have kind company
thereon,
and a little music sung,

well,
may we then,
all rest in peace.

∴

 

 

---