I listen to break up songs full of hatred and rage,
wondering if you listen to the same songs and think of me,
but I hope you don't, since I had wanted to be with you until old age,
unfortunately for the best, I was forced to set you free.

Into deeper darker depths I'm drawn
Inch-filled every way in wondrous sight
Of life, unseen, unknown, mysterious
Yet a familiar revelatory strangeness
The prompt blindly followed proved true
Echoed in surprising whispery sighs
As speech goes forth before hearing
So too the way walked then revealed
In mutual affirmation I'm given speech
In human tongues to craft the ineffable
That We hear, know, and acknowledge
Thus not hallucinations of wickedness
In ecstatic drunkenness I will sleep
For tomorrow to greater depths I go

A footprint in the mud
Overflowing with water
A monotone grey sky
Pours a calm steady rain
Small eyes glitter
In the hollows of a tree
The air is cool
But does not bite
I lose myself
As I wander the woods
A path less trodden
But not by much
I examine my thoughts
But find nothing of note
So I leave my head be
To kick at the puddles
In one such I find
A small twig of pine
And roll it back and forth  
Feeling the sap coat my fingers
As I continued to walk
And play with the twig
Something profound
Washed over me as the rain
A feeling, a sense
Perhaps even a smell
But there was no thought
No philosophy, no revelation
Just a fullness that came
With simply being
In and of itself

what happens after death?
no one really knows.
and honestly --
i don't think
i want to know.

some say
you go to heaven.
or hell.

others like to believe in
the afterlife,
in ghosts,
in wandering,
in haunting what's
left behind.

but me?
i just like to think
its just
that it's a kind of closure.
one thats quiet,
and final.
the kind that doesnt need
to be explained.

I can't even remember six-year-old me.
I don't know if she liked yellow like I do now.
I don't know if she hated spaghetti the way I do.
I don't know if she loved the sky and the clouds and the stars and the moon the way my big self does.

And I always wonder...
What would she think of me?
Are we following the dreams we had at that age?
Are we facing life with the same joy I think we would’ve had at six?
Would she ask me why I like yellow so much if she used to love pink?
What if she loved spaghetti and wanted to eat it every day?
I think maybe she did like the sky like I do.

(What’s not to like?)

Listen to the sound
of a butterfly
flying by

Feel the wind
from a bumblebee's buzzing

Clouds in the sky
The endless artwork

slowly the mountains come out of the blue of morning,
they regain their face
light bathes them in its milk
I hide in the tall grass like a child
this self expands into the clouds behind the trees
an engulfing joy dissolves words into vowels
everything that exists  is wonder, a forgotten state of matter
time confesses a circle
the circle conjures  an earth so wild
the forest stores its prayers inside moss
the sacred hidden in the most profane  flower
an work of art with unknown author, every atom is colourful
I offer my skin as playground for butterflies
they can feel she's not so different from the skin of the earth
some hours are born by the self of rain
I wonder if the wind feels me
like I feel you in blooming nails

If the stars could speak through skies at night,
And every shimmer held a dream in light,
Would we dare to listen, still and long,
To find the place where all our hopes belong?

If the trees could walk the world with grace,
And share the stories rooted in each place,
Would we learn to honor leaf and ground,
And hear in silence how all life is bound?

If the oceans rose to voice their song,
Revealing secrets they’ve held deep and long,
Would we dive into their boundless blue,
And join the dance of life in something true?

If hearts could speak without a single sound,
And feelings lost were suddenly unbound,
Would love then bloom, unshackled, wide and tall,
And bind all souls together, one and all?

If tomorrow came with no more pain—
Just golden calm behind the passing rain—
Would we step forward, fearless, full of light,
And paint our lives in every color bright?