Just disappearing
isn't possible
when it takes
so long for
a rock wall
to erode away

  The wind
is the only one
that sees you,
and its silence
grinds down
from the inside out
a mountain
too high to climb


  It's hard to forget
swelling words
spoken under the breath
of the voice of silence,
when your hands
are lined with all
that they ever have;

still bearing
every latent piece
that breaks off
tryin' to keep
from the sight
of another
tempest storm gale
moving worlds

  So I'm going
way outside
the edge of the inside;
crossing over
way outside the lines
covered by gathered
windblown life fractals
 
  Though I may not
get back in again,
way outside the lines,
or I might not
even want to ...
you can’t go back
the same way
you came,
everything changes
while you're gone
even if you DO notice

  Gravity pulls
with the strength
of a turning tide:
you can try
and fight it,
but you can't stop
its running downhill
looking behind
your eyes, trying
to take you back
the same way you
went way outside
  the lines ...


        Jesse

Morning falls
from a budding
   cherry tree;

   the colour
of nightsong’s
waning blossom
   comes to be
       an echo
   only heard
   by the wind

Soundless remnants
   of an intimate
twilight odyssey
   tarry thickly,
drifting lightly
through the landscape
      of dawn

   The hushed echo
   wields the silent
         reverie
      of the night,
   gently rippling
   the rivers that run
   through the heart

The poignant taste
of passionfruit lingers
in the sensory traces
      of a warm
   passing breeze;

      penetrating
   the lonely chill
   of a naked night's
      work of art

                ~


           Jesse

Lingering coastal fog
  climbed up the seaside cliff head
    The windward crest-edge
       sprawling  out
        the rolling waves
        misty breathe,
       shapeless as an ocean
      sigh betides;
    cloyingly crawling
  through the lush
hillside meadow verdure

The clinging mist dissipates
   like teardrops soon forgotten:
      the Dawning of the day
          caressing the evanescent dew;
             an ebbing tide
               remembered for a while...
               Dawn awakening
               newly sun kissed Daffodils
            animated with felicity and mirth;  
         lilting ballerinas
     gracefully swaying,
   contagious with the leavening
    serendipity of the westerly
      sea breeze ~

        Velvet bisque painted
            daybreak constellations,
              embossed by sunrise
               splendor ~
              each root bound bouquet,
            kismet choreographed ballerinas
         in Spring's  Rustic  Ballet


                        Jesse

A pair of lily white wings
   dangling in the dappled moonlight esprit;
hang entangled as silken spider web
   draped in the sweet Magnolia tree

From beneath there was no way of knowing
   why a pair of abandoned wings lodge mislaid
One could not help but wonder how high
   one might fly with cherub wings

But these callused feet tread far below the treetops
   too high up from roots to climb
No telltale tiptoe prints cavort to be the talebearer
   No feathered traces scattered all around

A hearken say, tickle-footed as a ladybug,
   hold forth in a breeze brushed ear
Not completely undoubtable heed spoken;
   a language bestow from another ether
softly breathe a whisper'd sigh:

"Behold the wings of a fallen angel;
   uplifted by love's amazing grace
Lost alone in a moonstruck blindness
   an angel flying too close
           to the ground

                      ~

                   Jesse

I wandered lonely as a cloud
That floats on high o’er vales and hills,
When all at once I saw a crowd,
A host, of golden daffodils;
Beside the lake, beneath the trees,
Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.

Continuous as the stars that shine
And twinkle on the milky way,
They stretched in never-ending line
Along the margin of a bay:
Ten thousand saw I at a glance,
Tossing their heads in sprightly dance.

The waves beside them danced, but they
Out-did the sparkling leaves in glee;
A poet could not be but gay,
In such a jocund company!
I gazed—and gazed—but little thought
What wealth the show to me had brought:

For oft, when on my couch I lie
In vacant or in pensive mood,
They flash upon that inward eye
Which is the bliss of solitude;
And then my heart with pleasure fills,
And dances with the daffodils.