Do not stand at my grave and weep..
I am not there. I do not sleep.
I am a thousand winds that blow,
I am the diamond glints on snow.
I am the sunlight on ripened grain,
I am the gentle autumn rain.
When you awake in the morning's hush
I am the swift uplifting rush
Of quiet birds in circled flight.
I am the soft star-shine at night.
Do not stand at my grave and cry..
I am not there. I did not die.

The spider, dropping down from twig,
Unfolds a plan of her devising,
A thin premeditated rig
To use in rising.

And all that journey down through space,
In cool descent and loyal hearted,
She spins a ladder to the place
From where she started.

Thus I, gone forth as spiders do
In spider's web a truth discerning,
Attach one silken thread to you
For my returning.

.












                                                   ­                                                     run








­





                       quietly















                                          ­                                       feet













                                            thr­ough











                                                 ­                                                                 ­                     wind















                                      o'er cheeks













                                             ­                                               o'er earth












                                    green stuff cloven


















                                        ­                                                                 ­         run













                                   mutely














                                            ­                                       crushing













                                         hulking silence

















                                        ­                                                           run













                                                ­      feet













                                         ­                                                       leaving


­













                                                   ­   the













                                             ­                                                            air



















                                        to­ breathless hours shorn





























                              ­                                                                 ­                to fetless hours worn


















                                 by treading sunlight







































                 ­                                                                 ­                        in loose warmth


































                        ­       of muscles extremely






































                 ­                                                                 ­      run

It was about this time last year I lost you
It was also about this time last year that the weather
Was under 70 degrees.
But here I am, nearly December
And it's almost reaching 80 degrees
I have no reason to be wearing your old sweater

Writing a love poem to you is like trying to send a postcard to you
But both sides are blank.
There’s no picture for “I don’t know where I’m at in life”
And I don’t even know what I would write
And there’s no address for the past. I can’t address a house that doesn’t exist any more
You like ghost town on this map. My roads just don’t run through you
If this love poem was a postcard, I wouldn’t know where to send it
When I lost you, my cardinal directions lost their reasoning
I wish I could still run my fingers through your North to your South
Measure the distance in your wingspan from East to West
When you would say “I love you this big”
And it wouldn’t get any bigger
You’re supposed to send postcards when you’re on a vacation
I may not know where I’m at but I know, baby, without you, it’s not paradise.
Maybe I’m too nostalgic. Maybe I’m too sensitive
But baby, that’s what you get for loving a poet
If I were to send you a postcard,
Maybe I’d write a poem on the back
Maybe I’d write our story
Or maybe I’d just write, “I’m sorry.”
If this poem were a postcard, it’d be one from a historical Monument
Not because those places are boring, but exciting with you
(But if you’d believe that, maybe I should jot that down too)
But because we have a history together.
I’d send one from Rome, because we weren’t built in a day
I’d send you one from the Golden Gate Bridge
So we could just get over this
Baby, I want to see you, even if you never wanted see me

Writing you a love poem to you is like sending
A postcard that’s blank on both sides
It means nothing to you.
Not that anything ever did, not that it meant nothing
When we were as close to each other that science and human anatomy would allow us to be
But that you still mean just as much to me now that we are miles apart
As far apart that faith, humanity, and God would allow us to be
It’s never really as far away as it seems
But we realized that too late and the postage service is closing

I think if I were to send you a postcard, I would leave both sides blank
So you could finally create a picture of yourself, wherever you want to be
Even if that picture didn’t include me
And I know it sounds cliché, but if I sent you a postcard,
All I would have the courage to say is,
“Wish You Were Here.”

It’s kinda pointless
The purpose was clear as its intention
But still, it was kinda pointless
It was like when a kid lets go of his balloon.
The string slowly evaporates from his hand
As he covers his brow looking skyward to the horizon
He let go of his first lover because maybe that would make his wishes come true
Or maybe he let it go so a part of him could touch God.

It was kinda pointless.
Our on and off again two month relationship
Every two months or so I would create every insecurity that my poetic lips could fabricate
Twist and turn on my restless nights in one way street fashion
But those other every two months
Were magical
I could write a million poems about your body if only my hands weren’t too busy touching it
I would memorize the way your footsteps walked home incase I ever needed to find you
And every song on the radio was our love song
But for another two months I let you go officially
And I guess that was kinda pointless
*** now I pointlessly think aimlessly for why I did it
Maybe I just didn’t want to see you evaporate from my hands again
Or maybe it’s *** I thought if I let go of my first lover, my wishes would come true
Or maybe it’s because when I’m kissing you, I feel like I could touch God
And that just scared me

But when a kid lets go of a balloon,
He thinks he’s done with it, but he knows he’s never gonna get it back.
But God, damm it, I want it back.
I want a reason to smile and know I’m smiling for a reason
I want something to hold my wrist, to go on adventures with
Making love with you was never pointless, and no, I don’t regret it.
In fact, it was flawless.
And I’d be skipping for days, waiting to do it again
But the feeling was lost. We let it evaporate from our hands.
We let our emotions escalade and we lost it.
Sacrificed it to a summer’s day
Watched it float into one of God’s crevices
Letting go you, was like letting go of a balloon.
I’m forced to watch it drift away but I never, ever, really saw it pop.

When you let go of a balloon, it kisses the sky.
So I kissed you good-bye in hopes you will reach new heights.

(the city had fought the fortnight before)
fire burned through the little skirts
and plastic lunch boxes
carrying the nourishment of our future
doctors and worldshakers—

                                 Future
tax paying Americans
And beacon of the nation.

Wide awake, in the thoughts of a light bulb,
(Where sidewalk stairs politic with the devil,)
A raindrop fell and whispered to the asphalt,
“Tell me what you know about happiness…”
And somewhere, in the middle of a pineapple parade,
A Pepsi can smiled and danced the night away with Nyquil labels.