be vigilant.

if you step out onto

a crust of snow

there is always a chance of breaking it and ruining

the perfect landscape,

marring it with your ugly boot prints

and the broken looking holes

where brown prairie weeds are revealed

and you will know

that you have done this

if it weren't for your stepping it would have remained

so crisp and smooth

all the way until spring

if only you had trod more carefully,

shame.

will.

will i stand

will i stay

will i have enough strong forces

for tomorrow

can i think the thoughts

that are better

can i let the awfulness of possibility

slip for a moment

to enjoy the life that is mine right now

right now

will i stand

will i stay.

caught.

certain days,

there is an incessant rhythm.

it is pounding

it is pulling

it is dragging soul

and sighs into it's vortex,

where all the colours of your intentions

mix up to muddy brown.

maze.

bright white halo masking yellow light and blue

horizons behind soft, blanketed

rooftops, crowded with winter's lace -

there is a bird sits

atop it's weighted wire

unmoving cold claws clinging.

graceful jerk of neck towards

distant crinkling branches in

this higher winter world,

heedless to the squeak of beings

below, their tread upon the ground

a topographic maze of white and brown.

study break.

you were dressed in orange

head in hand

white kitchen light glowing down

on your evening at the table

glowing down on your piano teeth

and your feather hands

and your nest of papers

you are the soundtrack to these words.

keep.

there is a kind of floating

that can be done

it can

it can

it can be done

when you let

the song

be

it will carry you

in that way

in that way

in that way like human voices do

like they do you up

and keep out empty cold

pink.

it was a sudden

lilting

without a breeze that brought me here

it was a piece of

cotton

candy stuck between your fingers

that was all i could think of

that silty past with it's

sickening sweet hopefulness

that this is not

the way life is

not

the way you have to keep conjuring your days up

drowning in naiveté

sewn.

if you have the sensations

in your fingertips

if you have the sense

will you buy the idea

that once in a while you can use your hands

to fold

to press

to cut through the thickness of it all.

words.

i will take your words

and twist them quietly until

they make me think

you see me

you love me

you know me

for who i wish i was

you will take my eyes

and turn them around until

they make you think

i see you

i need you

i know you

for who you really are

ancient.

i haven't had breakfast

who is this i am now?

she is a person who wears a mood

like a cloak

and allows herself to be under

several guises that

she puts on on purpose

knowing no one can take this from her

no one can take this knowledge

it's her invulnerable ritual

thursday

she called it a cafe au lait,

although it wasn't quite the same

but in that moment the morning

was so right and everything felt

charming and full and rich

who has experienced hope like this before?

she wondered as she sipped and lingered

in the pocket of time she felt god had given her

sifting.

i sift

through this culture

with it's warmth and humanity

and it's people who are growing out of it

and soft snow on the fence

across the road

is layering again

the way that weather does

even in our homes and blogs

the elements continue to enfold

as our connection to dirt and water

churns

underneath our daily thoughts

imperatives.

one more night

in the soft light of melody

that plays over me and glows into my veins

one more night

in the comfort of a moment

that makes allowances for my frivolity

if only to surprise me with

sharp, jilted

evidence of neccessity

in the absence of such.

spring inside.

fall

as choral voices soften your landing

sing

a zephyr's song

allow your thoughts

to run free from weighted words

and the heavy misunderstanding

of your surroundings.

blossom truly now

as your corners curl

and open in this daylight you have walked into.

exhale.

this is the best part of the day

looking through bare branches

into colour,

the coolness of descending twilight.

it is here that i am easily absorbed

pulled in by pinks

that flash across cold blue and yellow atmosphere

i become

surrounded by thin vapour,

the movement of my limbs

a feeble dance in response to the falling beauty

of the last lights of this day.

night sounds.

whistle of

water changing into steam

gentle heavy sleep breath

rustling feathers between fabric,

hair and ear on pillow.

quiet clicking fingertips on glowing plastic letters

distant idling engines

humming gas heater,

circulating dust throughout.