Diamond

The morning sun
Blinks for a moment behind the trees
The late night stars
Clear cut, more precious
In this cold clean air

The Resolution

The shadows grow long
It finally feels right to forget her
The defense,  available to a fault
Has moved like a fetus
Into my dominion
Shoulders don't have to hang
A good mind can rest
And see a line breaking, like a well worn burnt out branch
Reaching the ground
Finally resting on the ground

Steam

Like a neatly drawn corner
Sharp, clear, defined
The Karvol drops spread into the running bath water
Vaporizing steam acquires the scent
My hands shake
Remembering myself as the child
Sitting in the bath
Waiting for carrots and mashed potatoes
Breathing deeply
Letting the steam ease bronchitis.

Child

My heart was under construction
Ripped, open, demolished to nothing
You walked through the barrier tapes
You opened the new door
This heart grew stronger, more, loving
Seeing your fingers holding mine
Feeling your breathing synchronized with mine
As I held you late at night, under desert town stars
Years passed,  a child grew, a heart grew too

Retreat

I hear them
sitting side by side
crunching on packets of chips
nothing else matters
but the quiet crunch
the companionship
close, sharing warmth
side by side

Here

Nothing touches us
the world becomes very small
there are no others here
to permeate my heart like a thief in the dusk
There is winter, grass slowly folding into bleached yellow
there is a fire, breathing into my face, drying tears
there is a breathing mountain, softly in the morning
deeply in the night.

Perhaps
out in the world there are explosions
wars
people reeling in recession
lines of cars waiting for traffic lights to change
here
there is only a simplified day
a recipe book, butter melting into mashed potatoes
a long soundless night

Playground

The asphalt, where small untainted hyperactive hands
hang on chipped paint swings and slides
smelling of sweat on metal
 and grazed stinging under their plasters knees
There are no lullaby clouds or skipping rope jump laughter reminders
There is a lonely child on a swing
waiting for friend who never arrives

Child Fever

She keeps her mannerisms
she keeps her constant chatter
despite the dark eye ringed, pale, hot face
back, this same stone cold clasp in my heart
the need to take her reeling fever into myself
the need to tear open remedies, real and imagined
to wring out towels of bile and pain
and stroke the hot forehead next to me
watching Disney
watching breathing like a paranoid newborn's mother
until the morning birds wake

Across an Ocean

Today I see you

as if I am looking through the mist of the morning ocean

vague, moist against my skin

a cold, lonely saturated wind

a presence in the sound spray, reaching my eyes, your scent

the pull of the ocean air

is as consistent as your hand as been

spanning countries in long summers

rainstorms soaking dirt roads to mud swamps

you have driven through them

to hold my hand

I see the mist heavy on the horizon

there will always be a light, a ship, a vessel

carrying chicken pies and strawberries, seeds to sow

carrying you.

To my young self

I would bow down on my knees
and tell her
to hold herself
put her arms around herself
to forgive what happened
to stop the running myth of an idealized child
I would tell her to stop running from the pain
I would tell her that she is doing a great job
that she is braver than most
but not made of stone
I would plead with her
not to see her life, her face
reflected off a man

I would tell her to sit
and weep
and curl into a ball
I would show her that few have seen what she had to see
that few have survived the face she had to witness
I would tell her its okay to sometimes just lie in bed
and let the hours pass, waiting for a better day.

Rooms

There are bedrooms in my mind
I cannot access now
My children cling to me like sand
abrasive, warm
unending
they kiss me goodbye
as I send away those night rooms

Fences

The cattle break them down, determined
searching for tall grass
they are struck by innovation
in the dust of the dry season
A border becomes a gateway
they stamp over the barbed wire
moving into a softer place

The fences of my heart are as easily broken
the borderline between reason and loving
stamped over in the dry season