When my mind becomes scattered,
when each of the thoughts I held
in my core is lost to the wind,
I seek out answers and resolutions
from the natural world.
On mornings when the grey sky
covers the sun and the forest
lives in its own green exterior,
the cold air lays upon the skin,
and you know that rain is near.
Each drop a fragment of some
larger being or existence beyond
this world and my body reacts to the cold
by reassembling the core and bringing
this being back into a whole form.
I woke in the fields.
The fields I have never seen.
The fields black beneath the white sun.
Limbs emerge from snow.
Snow scatters into the wind.
Wind twists the clouds around me.
From the horizon a train nears.
The horizon shakes and fractures.
The fractured fragments cover my mind.
I was not yet ready to awaken.
The child stares into the mirror of the adult
he is to become and both wonder why.
the adult sees a child running through
sand ahead of the waves and the look
of amazement when birds take flight
the child sees an adult lost
black eyes cold and the look
of bewilderment when he realizes
the path from here,
the only way forward,
the choices that lie ahead.
how do I get through the mirror?
the child sees a stray dog
and runs, chasing it into the water.
the adult sees a stray man
and plans to run, escape this life.
events begin to play upon the mirror
and the adult can only watch and remember.
thinking back to the one moment
the planted seed took root
the forked road vanished beneath black dirt.
only the shadow is visible in the mirror.
an outstretched hand reaches for
the other as lights fade away
and the mirror shatters.
As the rain subsides
and the sky fills with birds
I am left with a fragment
of who I was yesterday.
That is to say each day
we are given the chance to change
to shed what is not needed
and keep what we are destined to be.
With the lazy moon
early in the morning
I opened the door into
the waiting darkness
and startled my shadow
hiding near the trees.
I ran toward where I thought it was
and dove trying to catch a piece
a fragment of this image of
who I thought I was.
The more we hear the more we turn
away from the voices carried from
beyond the horizon on broken winds
as each day chips away at the armor.
Thoughts scatter through the empty field
past the tree line and I stop at the border.
What inhabits the forest I cannot see or hear?
Trees hold the evening sky on fraying leaves.
Birds fill empty branches and the valley is alive.
As the sun falls into the horizon I am reminded that
each day comes to an end before beginning.
What took place today, what struggles we endured, force a reflection, a chance
to take a fragment of the day, a glimmer of hope, to carry into tomorrow.
I am broken and
beneath the evening sun
my pieces melt.
In the moonlight
I am made whole again.
Washed with silent words
spoken by creatures of
the day and night
I let go and slept
in their midst while
the sky turned and
the sun left this
space beyond the trees.
In the depths of dreams
I saw the clouds
move slowly across
the empty fields
and at the beginning
or the end
I stood and talked
with a raven holding
fragments of the person
I was before coming here.
Days spent watching and
listening to the news.
Anxiety creeps in with
each headline with
each story and tragedy.
Step after step toward the cliff
little time remains to salvage
fragents of humanity
the fractured souls becoming all of us.
I want to express the extreme
sadness that consumes my being
and the futile tears that only
I can see and feel.
Fists clenched the anger
disconnects reason from thought.
What goes through another’s mind?
What is left in their eyes?
I stand on the ridge line
both sides swept into fog.
The path ahead lined with
extended arms and hands
of those who passed before
those who gave this life.
There is only one way.
The following are excerpts from a new piece I am writing called “Sand Shadows”.
Grey sky meets the field
past the mountain range,
past forest and beyond
the fertile waters.
One bowl I carry
down dusty roads,
scattered snow fills
my bowl enough to drink.
Children run from yipping dogs
chickens waiting for dinner
watchful of hiding coyotes.
Who carries the lantern
across the meadow?
Who follows the river
from mouth to delta?
Who is standing at the
wrought iron gate?
Sitting at the stone table across
from an empty setting – the
space is filled with grains of sand.
I have no recollection of where these
may have come from, no memory of arriving here.
The sky is grey and swollen, and I fear the
wind arriving before I remember.