one month of relative quiet
set aside for enjoying
everything that the
stones are
saying

It’s at times like these
that space seems to
stretch itself out
without any
regard
for how
much I’d like
to be with you
on this of all days.

Once in a while, the universe
winks at us with quiet
reminders that some things
really shouldn’t be
left to
chance.

I remember feeling someone’s eyes upon me,
that feeling borrowed from a dream
which makes my knuckles prickle.
I started pottering ostentatiously.
I continued humming.
I didn’t
look
around.
The feeling
didn’t go away.
It was very quiet.
I could feel you watching.
I can’t remember why it seemed
so important to avoid making eye contact.
If only I’d turned around, smiled
and said ‘hello’, we might
have enjoyed a day
free from absurd
hauntings of
fear.

How many times have I come back home
only to feel like a stranger in
my own past? The unfamiliarity of
everything makes me wonder if
what we call memories
are actually stories
rolled into
dreams.

sometimes when I travel
alone I feel
nearer to
you.
it puts
me out of
joint and makes me
wish that I
would say
more
when we’re
sharing the same
space. it’s too easy
to drift apart
when we’re
close.

“Ride your bike into nowhere,” she says,
“It’s that kind of freeing thing.”
We’re sitting on the couch,
throwing out ideas about
todays and tomorrows.
There’s something
appealing
about dancing
into distant sunsets,
but earlier this afternoon
we planted some vegetable seeds.
They haven’t had time to germinate,
but their roots have already entangled me.

Nobody
can now
tell me that
the impossible can’t happen.
A new broom sweeps clean,
Mighty oaks from little acorns grow,
A cat may look at a king,
And, indeed, the show really must go on.

Once upon a time in far-away lands,
there lived a short tale that,
before it had a chance
to stretch its wings,
wilted, just as
an epigram
began.

On purposeful Wednesdays, iron steps
reverberate across the pavement;
absolutely nothing can
prevent locomotive
intent.