a severed branch in smooth moonlight
adorned above an open gate—
does it lead out or in?
does kindness wait beyond the blind corner,
or something severe
lurking in silence
to devour your life?
something wild with eyes for the dark calls through the night.
an inkling that this night may be your last,
and you’ve already forgotten
the gentle light of the rising sun.
death teases the truth behind the illusion
but never gives up the ghost.
maybe not tonight, but someday—
it will come,
as unavoidable
as the waterfall is to the river.
but you are not the river.
you are the sky, my friend—
vast and open.
do not mistake yourself for your life,
which is but a reflection
on the river, briefly.
let it fall away, as all things must,
over the edge,
into the unknown,
into the mist.

I stretch beyond what eyes can see,
A boundless realm of sand and sea.
So vast, so still yet never bare,
A silence breathing everywhere.

I shimmer calm beneath the sky,
But hold a thousand storms nearby.
At times I whisper, soft and slow,
At times I rise, and roar, and throw.

I don't ask to be explored,
Nor beg the brave to seek my core.
I simply am too wide to bind,
Too deep for most to even mind.

They stand in awe along the shore,
And claim they've seen what I restore.
But all they see is surface blue,
A surface hiding what is true.

Some dip their toes, then flee the chill,
Some surf my waves, chasing the thrill.
They ride the rhythm, skim my face,
Yet never touch my shadowed place.

And then the divers come with pride,
With lungs like iron, eyes stretched wide.
They plunge with lights and fragile charts,
To chase the secrets in my heart.

They dive so deep their spirits strain,
Convinced they've touched my farthest vein.
But still I stretch, unknown, profound,
No end in sight, no solid ground.

And slowly, spent, they rise and drift,
Their courage dims, their will grows weak.
They whisper soft, “Too vast to keep,”
Then fade away, in silence deep.

Yet I remain the silent sea,
Not empty, but too deep to see.
A depth not meant for every soul,
A truth too wild to grasp in whole.

I know the sun will rise at dawn,  
But not the paths my feet will drawn.  

I know the words, yet not their weight,  
Nor how they’ll twist or seal my fate.  

I know the sea, its waves so wide,  
But not the depths where secrets hide.  

I know the seed, but not the tree,  
Or what its branches yet may be.  

I know the start, but not the end,  
A fleeting thought I can’t defend.  

I know enough to humbly say—  
The more I learn, the less I know each day.

Above the horizon
A canopy      
          So dark
Words cannot separate

Even when in
      Negative image

The single full stop
                              Of a moon
             Gives nothing away

Is it a person or a place,
A thing whose soul I can never know?
A warrior howls with the wind
in the trackless wild.
Or a peerie lad running through sand
on St. Ninian's ayre?
A maid swimming
in an unreachable isle
or the luffing of sails
in the harbour at night.
An expanse of heath
with a bird above.
A person or place
That I'll always love

Do you prefer space, or the deep ocean?
Or the void at end of the world
where the ocean was before
it turned to salt? Or all of the above?

Me, I prefer the all-out sprint to the edge
where the toes abandon the sun-warmed planks,
the infinity of just existing in air, a moment
before the infinity of just existing in cold water.

There is boundless freedom only found
constrained to a minute's unreversed decision.
There is endless wisdom only gained when lost
to the great unknown, unwritten verities.

There is uncanny comfort in this pastel wind
over gray land, in the unconcerned moon,
in the one thing you don't even think about until
you need to find where you dropped your keys.

In reality, "all of the above" is the correct response,
and you can with joy fling yourself into the abyss
of any unfathomed mystery, any new creation
to discover whether you will float, or sink, or swim.

Or we could just spend the day together
at an art museum, leave your jacket and keys there
on the benighted beach, hold hands, and jump
through the wormhole at the center of the galaxy.

I know things aren’t sunshine and rainbows, that I often overlook things because I want to feel something other than emptiness or sadness. Change it to something else—for someone to understand me, for someone to see me, like I’m looking through glass. To feel some sense of comfort rather than the loneliness I often feel inside.  You call me these sweet things, like a tune of lullabies, and act differently other weeks, like you didn’t. It always leaves me so surprised.