There is a massive distance
between her smile and tears
when she writes about the rain.
Because her faded dreams
put her mind at ease
behind the places
where she stands
in pain.

Sitting in the garden
where one finds love
in those eyes
that speak of alone.
She writes lines
which intrigue mysteriously.
You can see her words dance
where she's walked,
when dawn breaks
across the trees.

The inner deepness of her words
hold on to each cloud,
crying out to the depths
of our bones.  
They tell us our worst hours
contain the time outside
of her faded dreams
and that they too.....
will soon be gone.

When she writes about the rain
we smile
behind the places
where we stood in pain.  
You can see her words dance
where she's walked,
knowing......
they never speak
in vain.

From among dreams that come to shine and be mirrored
outside of our sleep,
we find a sea of life inside a flawless silence.
Without thought,
we cherish the intoxication
putting our lives in a state of perfect balance.

A first kiss can grab your heart
and leave it beating faster
than sand flows in the hourglass of time.
Or, it can cast a shadow on everything
that is required
when you find yourself asking,
what is the beat I hear in my mind?

The brightest feathers are dismissed by memories
of lines once wrote
about the image of the moon.
For the first time we dared to dream
about more than a jagged rhythm
never succumbing
to finding a new tune.

We find we do not care if we are bathed
in laughter or neglect
as long as we are next to one another
in a portrait where we smile.
We will still dance inside our words of love,
smooth as glass for miles and miles.

Closer and closer the trueness of our hearts
becomes visible to all Heaven and Earth
here below
with gravity held only as a slave.
A slave with tears that wash away any doubt
that what goes up
must come down right away.

Tonight
i have no shoes
and it feels alright
nothing like my dreams
i like feeling the cold  on my feet tonight
i must be a gipsy or something more
to feel so Seconal in this dream
for sure that must
be just me
in no shoes
this night
and feeling things
the ground so sure.

Translucent,
Clearly visible,
That which lies within,
Malleable when heated to extreme,
By passion or regret,
Accepting the arrangements,
And shape and form,
Of that which afflicts and guides it,
Made ornate with,
Precious events and horrific realities,
It slowly becomes opaque,
No longer allowing light to pass,
Reflecting instead,
What was inside,
Now dead,
Hardened and brittle,
So easily shattered,
Shards and fragments,
like razors,
make unwanted openings,
To a great depth,
Into the soul,
Of the one who possesses such a frail and perishable,
Glass heart.