Desert.

All the things we said, all the skies you heard.
Gentle, broken, twisted words.
All the laughing loving moving on
Held me in the morning light.
"The only woman..."
Complicated.
"I thought it was headed that way..."
Wish it had, but it all really does flow in the right direction.
Whether that be toward or away, it is as it should be.
I am as I could be.
I could be with you.
Shaking, trembling trying something new.
But I am left in the driveway,
Holding my keys, dribbling memories onto the concrete.
Before this dream melts into the sunrise,
Before we dry off completely,
Before we start to clean up the mess we live here in,
Before we even begin,
Hold my hand, open your heart, let me in.
I'll send you back out again, whispering and grinning your small triumphs.
A mess, yes. When you jump this high, it's a long way down.
Sometimes, we have to stop and scrub our elbows clean again, but the times we do are so worth the times we don't.

Working Title.

Bodily harm.
Stretched too thin.
Goal.
Overboard, overwrought.
Phone call in the night.
Looking forward, I have a choice of focus.
Downward slope.
Open water.
Take me home.
That brief, electric touch- one moment met carries me through.
Superstition, jinx. Murphy's Law. Always.

Going for some wide open space.
Clean air, goodbye.
Clear night, bright sky.
Temporary license, leave your trace.
Decipher your intent, you're intense, test my patience.
Death by veiled negligence.
Loving your quiet, awkward elegance.

Higher.
One.
Indignance.
Rude and vicious.
Whirlwindbluroutoffocus.

Forgive me my melodrama, it's in my history.
Sometimes, I just can't help myself.
I dip a toe in, and stir it up.
Woolly little caterpillar on my finger, you're terribly cute and amusing...
Can't wait to see your wings.

Process.

Just let go.
I know it's just that simple- to just release, "relinquish", give it up.
To not give it more power or meaning than it really has.
To not get wrapped up in a story starring me.
But...
Dark lips move behind smoldering eyes, a puffy white flash smeared in red yawns in slow motion. I taste metal. I still breathe bitter and liquid.
Wild-haired and slack-jawed, I rinse torn skin over and over again in my dreams,
But I cannot seem to wash it away.
And so, I wonder though these images have taken a life and a command their own: if I can learn what I am supposed to learn, simply find the right perspective...
Can they hold me ever less captive in their grasp?

A & R

Wax doll, eyebright no more.
Paper peels away, cherry-red beneath.
Crying wax tears, here, too.
Crumbling where you should be filling.
Chafing and breaking where you should be bouncing.
Another go around, I know.
Wasn't right this time, I am sure.
Reason for everything, yes.
But it's all little comfort.
It all pales in your presence.
Tiny stolen breaths whisper over my shoulder.
Am I there yet?
Take me home?

Rough-hewn.

Avail me of your senses, if you please.
Give over to me
Your glassy eyes
Your forked tongue
Your layers of skin-thin paper
Your taste in clothes.
Give me that other sense,
The one between, the one that you're unsure of
But never betrays you.
I will treat them carefully,
And be sure to hand them back when I am done.

Smoke.

Mwen regret sa.
I found a fount of rubies, one day-
Sapphire gleaming in a puddle beneath my feet
I dug down in this shining mountain
And found exactly what I was looking for.
Deep under each of our lies
Lies a sleeping dragon: heavy-lidded but just as dangerous.
A threat to the frail threads that hold us together.
A warning to tread carefully over the coals.
I regret. I regret shaking it awake- the marks it's claws left and the charred edges of my confidence remind me to go slowly, step lightly, and keep watch for precious stones that make my mouth water,
But must never be touched.

Unconditional.

Breathe it in.
Breathe it out.
Breathe it in.
Let it go.
It wasn't ever mine to have in the first place.
I owe/own nothing, and so do you.
No contract here, nothing written nor signed.
Just love and temporary shelter given freely.
The logic behind my eyes makes sense and elevates us all.
By my heart's gentle insistence whispers a story of missing. Of innocent regret. Of a very empty space.
It's fibers pulling slightly, and a low ache that lets me know I'm real.
Lets me know that there's still work to do.
The next stepping-stone ahead is a step up, closer to healing, to putting it all together.
It's a step apart.
I know what happens, I know we always start with the best intentions but they end up fading quickly.
Light-years away, I'm pushing back out into the water. I don't know what else to do.
I'm sorry. I never did.
Breathe it out.
Let it in.
Send it through.
And if faith does carry this intent, if you ever make it, I'll still be there.

Simple.

More homework on my list-
Presence, expression and now meditation.
I ran today, farther from home than I wanted,
Further than I should have.
I don't think I am running away,
More to something that's always just at my fingertips.
"...If I ever go looking for my heart's desire again, I'll never look any farther than my own backyard..."
It's not getting what you want, it's wanting what you have... It's being fully present with each experience, enjoying every moment, not always planning the next move, the next jump, this week's checkmate.
It's doing less with more.
It's paying attention within and without.
We're more different, perhaps than we imagined. But find significance in similar things: love, kindness, acceptance and growth.
Accepting your kindness, accepting my own growth and remembering that in the end, it's only love that you carry with you.
Your heart is weighed against a feather, and if it's filled with joy and light, it is it's own reward.
Simply be happy.
I hope someday that I figure out how to make it just that- simple.

The toxic roils off you in waves.
Concrete heat, or
Wax factory drippings.
A grease housecoat that smells faintly of jealousy.
Of anger.
Of loathing.
Keep it at arm's length, a ten-foot pole or a thirty-foot drop.
Drop you like a hat, be careful and don't slip.
It's oily here. The kind you can't wash off.
Or don't.
A sidelong glance, tilted chin or narrowed eye
Reminds me to trust my own judgement better
And trust you less.
I may not be right, but I am not a tower to be toppled
No false idol
No conspiracy here.
Simply all of us doing our very best with what we have
And if that doesn't meet your standard of quality, and if I don't understand how your abrasiveness gets you ahead of me somehow,
Then I suppose I will go my way, and you yours, and we'll let the evidence speak for itself.

Left.

The last of your tentacles unravels itself from my head.
A little from my soul, a little from my memories.
I am ready to open that little package, now.
I felt critical before, confused but it's just that I wasn't ready.
Just breathe.
Pass by.
Yellow pink and blue.
Separate but parallel but separate.
Where we overlap.
Simply do things that make you happy.
Quiet mind.
Bright heart.
Heal me slowly.
Everything helps, everything counts.
"the greatest of these, is love."
Fight less, and you live more.
Compassion, reflection, deliver me from stagnation.
Deliver me from fear, from loneliness, from insecurity.
Through the fire, enlightenment comes out of the darkest places.

Seeing around the corner.

"Stand in front of you, take the force of the blow..."
The force of your sight
Your seeing my believing endlessness
Colors flash I'll be your red-green blindness
Keep it secret, keep it safe before it burns you to the ground.
Living lightning out of place
Inward journey's outer space
Take it hold it help it leave
Your loving my stumbling when did I get so graceful...
When did I ever learn to dance?

High standards mean that I'll never disappoint you as much as I fail myself.
I should have run, today.
I should have spent the moments between patients thinking about rehearsal instead of finding stilted and thready connections.
They fill a sort of craving, but never quite enough.
I should learn the violin.
And French- I am good at languages and shouldn't squander that talent.
If I only tried harder and worked more at it, I could be that girl.
But, the more I look around, the more I see I'm actually closer than I think.

"If I don't own it, it can't own me."
A simple observation, complex revelation
With heavy implications for my insidious disease.
I carry it with me like a banner or a torch
Like a blanket or a bear
Something I return to when I've nothing else to do
I realize it's good energy wasted
That I'd be more efficient if I could be
But it's just so damned comfortable.
Find another pattern, here
Find another out, another way to be fulfilled
Fear fakes it's influence with a pompous and empty threat.
And if I can ever be free,
I might have to learn to open my eyes again.

Innocence.

All bleeding stops.
The brain is self-destructive.
Cards held close, very close for me to bat and stumble at the outside.
Crashing headlong as usual.
Time to check my answers, I made an ok decision and didn't suffer the usual consequences.
The usual inferences fail me now,
Highly suspect, little winged thing.

I remember the illustration of Pandora's Box from my childhood,
Hope, it had wings.
All bleeding stops, one way or another.
The brain, once injured, is programmed to continue to destroy itself until there is nothing left to think about.
Pestilence had fangs.
Sorrow was all beak, like the Mome Raths.
Hate ran the other way, black and stringy like a clot hung from a sheet.
But only Hope flew up.
She and I, paired in our desperate fluttering go anywhere we're welcome.

Somewhere beautiful.

What.

Under a spell, or something.
Knowing more and seeing through.
Resisting the tug of a downward spiral, despite myself.
Decadence in silent comfort and a shooting star's blessing give me confidence.
What or why, either way the wind blows me where it will, and so far following along has been a journey edged with gold.
Keeping my focus
I am consumed
I am intrigued- what's coming around the corner and what precious gift will land in my lap?
To answer: happy, a friend, teacher and taught.
Because I am fascinated, attracted, because I am pulled and spellbound. A little like a crazy little moth, I want in in the worst way.

You don't really belong in your skin: I hope you can take a little warmth from mine.

Big Dipper

Six points of contact, and you've struck every one.

Wild, confused thing needing focus,

Poor child, you know that shift isn't fleeting

That ribbon leaves its searing mark, insidious red letter

A changed thing, striking blind at the whirlwind

Unaware of your limits, your strengths

And denying your weaknesses and their permanent effects.

Lace burning holes in your skull

And your resolve.

We're all trying to find the answer to the same questions.

All trying to both see the connections, and see through them...

Look up.

Look through the chaos and the glittering distractions

That faint constellation of truth, hope, love, and promise - it shines down on all of us.

Some brighter than others, but we're still all looking up at the same bright star.

Behind bars. Or, open/shut.

Hold on tight, fragile thing.
Hold it dear and close.
Keep it quiet as it may never be as much as it could.
Lucky, fortunate, thankful for this chance to grow.
This is only a warning. Not your first red flag, but maybe the biggest and, I hope, the last.

Sleep, dream of me as I dream of flying castles too great and rivers of stone and tiny, sacred things.
They tell me the truth, these small things.
They say this is all we will ever have.
That I had better pay attention, the answers are closer than I think.
And those answers matter less than I want them to.

Muse.

"Duel Nature"
I have a dual duel of my own.
Days seem brighter, nights shorter.
Doubt, a delusion, swerves outside it's lines.
I have a habit to learn.
You're right, I am always looking for the next big thing.
It's wanting what you have, I know, but I need more for now.
It's a phase, let me stumble a little please.
3-year-old tantrums or 15-year-old angst, it's not forever and no matter how much you explain and entreat, I still have to kick my heels on the ground to see whether or not it will open below me.
Someday, everyone should see the Grand Canyon with their own eyes.
You should compare Niagara Falls to the post card, because you cannot print the lace and fog, the browning leaves, the rolling thunder bass, the little details that create an experience.
I may have slipped a little on the rocks, I may be cold and wet, but I got to see it for myself.
Understanding vs. Acceptance.
Support vs. Consent
Thinking vs. Feeling
Why vs. How vs. Now...
Someday I'll be satisfied, my hunger for new things. Thank you for your love and patience.
Thank you for an intriguing opportunity.
"A wise man in the making."
I swerve outside my own lines sometimes, reject the default for no other good reason.
I know where my home is, though. I know where safe is.
I am learning to talk less and breathe more.

Dual lessons in the earth and the clouds.