We are elaborate animals made of wood
earth, flowing like water into the veins
of the sky.

The sun being a fist of lava, and the night
being an enticing molar—we are
a succession of tides, being swallowed
by successions of day; and how beautifully
we wilt in the presence of joy.

The moon may be nothing
but a luminous
stone

and to eat the poetry of it
is how one chokes
on love

but the romance of morning
is that if by midnight
you are alive, that is joy.

Lay back, relax my love
as I softly caress your mind
let me fill your life with peace
leave all past stress behind.

Let your soul soar with mine
gaze deep into my eyes
feel my love surround you
as we float the moonlit skies.

Filling every night with pleasure
enveloped in pure loving bliss
stopping the flow of time
together suspended in honeyed kiss.

Interwoven as one
uniting together, one beautiful light
now and forever a single thread
casting beauty through the night.
~

And like moments
were words
I made a wish
to the stars…

And now

Soon I will hold you close
envelop your heart
kiss your loving soul
and when the words
become so real
that we cannot stand
the electric energy
that flows...

Those moments
will be ours.. alone
with each other...

And again and again
we will meet
after dark
as the moon
yawns in awakening
and the only
light to be seen
embraces us
in a sparkling soft shade
of silver blue.

In that secret place
we will always meet
where the clouds greet
the swaying trees
sprinkling moonlight
in the shadows
as your touch
lingers on my skin
a radiant heat
melding slowly
with the
tingling warmth
your love
blankets me in.

I suppose there has to be a reason
or at least a note
to mark that day--

He ate his breakfast
She let him out
He walked along the railing like the plank
defying death for pleasure
of his lady's company
to get his belly rubbed
sprawled long
across her lap

She released him
to chase the squirrels of his dreams
to his black cat adventures
to the aching green of life's
late summer ways

But, the days assemble against your return

May the angels find you quickly
my darling, Bailey
Dark beauty of coal
I was a Tuesday, bereft
You disappeared--
like the shadow of a whisper

Disappeared like hope--
in the last blow of day

before you go and do something dumb
I know how it is just to feel numb.
take a moment to let me tell you people care
because maybe you want to share but you don't dare.
don't be afraid to tell somebody you need help
because no matter how small the yelp
they will be there to listen to you
so maybe this is your cue.
this world is better with you in it so don't quit
Please stop hiding that pit
speak out and seek attention
let's start the process of ascension
I know that you feel alone all by yourself
like you've been placed on a dusty shelf
cut off from a society that doesn't love you
but I'm telling you that isn't true.
just give a call to that hot line
let it be a light in the dark that shines
because they will answer and listen
the tears will fall and glisten
because you'll know that they care
you can let go of the tremendous weight you bare.
people love you and they always will
so before you take that pill
before that Blade touches you again
before you step off the end
put down that gun
and just call them so you live to see the morning sun
I love all of you with all of me
I just hope I reach you in time for you to see.
I beg and plead
before you start to bleed
just call them and talk
they want to help you they really do.
don't be afraid to take that first step
don't be like me and never speak out.

-Caleb J. Collins

Noon, I’m next in line behind an old man.
“I want to withdraw fourteen dollars,” he says.
The teller, a young woman with a soft sweater, says
“There’s only—let me check—yes—fifty-two cents.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.” She tilts her head. “Sorry.”
The sorrow is genuine.
He wears a pinstripe suit, frayed,
wafting an odor of smoke and earth.
A smartly folded handkerchief, breast pocket,
has a dark stain. His silver beard
is neatly trimmed.

On one wall above the safe is a giant
mural of teamsters driving a stagecoach.
The man says, “There might be—”
“No. It’s always the same.”
For a moment he closes his eyes,
a slow blink while indignities of a lifetime pass.
Without a word, the young woman slides a sandwich
over the countertop through the teller window.
“Blessings on you,” the man says with a nod,  
and he walks away with a limp.

I cash my check, a big one
from three days of messy labor
for a matron of the horsey set.
“He lives by the creek,” the teller says
without my asking. “Under a bridge.”
Outside the bank, in the parking lot of glistening cars,
I look around for the pinstripe suit, the silver beard.
I might offer the man something.
He might refuse to take it.
Anyway, no matter:
he has disappeared like the last stagecoach.
Only the blessing remains.