When I see the evening sun
gracefully fall into the forest

and the last rays sweep across the sky
I hear the slow progression of cello and violin

as the music makes room in me for these rare
moments and feelings of peace.

I have been down that road
many times in this life

hoping that what is unknown and unseen
would change, a different result would be waiting

but after years of chasing shadows
and fleeing from truths steeped in stars

I found you waiting beneath the setting sun.

When the end arrives
I will be standing in the empty fields
as the moon overtakes the sun
and the shadows overtake the forest
waiting for you.

Do you remember where you were
that night in the autumn

the first hard freeze and the
sky exploding with clouds and light?

I will never forget where I was
standing near the pond

filled with an orange reflection
waiting for the call, for you.

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In this dream I watched
your silhouette dress.

Sounds of the streets below
carried by the autumn wind.

We had a place to be
but I do not remember where.

I caught a glance of your eyes
in the mirror and the soft blue

with a hint of smile told
me this was not real.


I wandered the streets
of mirrors for days
and weeks searching for the
one last person I knew.


I stood at the corner
beneath buildings of
concrete and glass.

Rain fell everywhere but
upon me and I walked

dry and untouched down
empty streets and empty lives.


I stood at the corner
and waited for the last bus.

Its doors opened but no one exited.
I boarded and there was no driver.

The inside was dark and wet.
I stumbled around trying to

find anything and after
hours of a fruitless search

I sat down and fell asleep
while the bus left the station.

Downtown Streets, by Twisted Root Studios – http://www.twistedrootstudios.com

Downtown Streets
Downtown Streets, by Twisted Root Studios – http://www.twistedrootstudios.com

In honor of Mother’s Day and including pops, a poem.

A child five years old waits
patiently, the door has not
opened for some time, a
dining room chair methodically
collects dust. Three dinner plates
have become two, seemingly overnight.

One kiss upon my forehead, though
different, something new as the
touch and embrace last moments
longer, sometimes met with tears,
silent sobs in the distance when
my bedroom door closes.

A child of six grows older
aware of a new knock upon the door
a new face entering, bearing gifts
a gentle smile, kind words,
an embrace for my mother.
Two slowly becoming three.