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.
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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.

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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.

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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?

Days broken.

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.

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I am broken and
beneath the evening sun
my pieces melt.

In the moonlight
I am made whole again.