Character does not descend from the sky like dew
It grows from the depths
And fights to move upwards.

Upwards, upwards, upwards,
I go.

I don’t want to escape from this feeling
And yet,
I cannot bear
To withstand it, either…

Winter is the cold sleeping space
Between the blanket and the sky,
Between the legs falling asleep in warmth,
And the leaves turned to frost in twilight.

the darkness holds so many secrets
that daylight doesn't dare to ask about.
hidden underground,
ignored and concealed;
the light does not always illuminate the truth.

the pottery is unspinning
the sweater's unknitting
the candle is melting
and the tea's gone missing
pondering the theft in awe at this mess
and what's left:
clay, fabric, wax, and leaves
i guess
it's god's way
to say
be grateful for your things
when the world goes backwards
it's the leaving that stings

"i wish
i'd loved you better..
and that you
see me clearly
without disguise.."

as for love slipping away:
"we cannot continue for long
to exist sanely
under conditions of absolute reality. . ."

"to truly love another person
is to accept that
the work of loving them
is worth the pain of losing them. . ."

everything that i love
is me
the same way everything
you love
is you

you became a part of me..

and to feel you..watch you..hear you
slipping from my fingers..
feels like a vital piece of me
is being suddenly and violently
ripped out from within . . .

So falls Greece, so falls Rome,
And in their bone-lipped tombs
Forever those still listening for love.