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.

Christmas, you sparkle.

From a distance you are enticing,

with your visions of lit-up trees

in snow covered woods.

Carol of bells playing over and over,

your season saturates the night.

Evenings become sad and mysterious

with their mix of childhood reminiscence

and disappointment.

Silver tinsel bells hung in doorways,

1960's party dresses,

black and white santas on video.

Cool morning light

and unwrapped presents

lined up under unlit trees on boxing day,

the silence of sipping coffee in a rocking chair.

You are Christmas.

You, who are silent with me,

and celebrating another year

of togetherness, and of separation.

All feasting and candles

and allusions of fireplaces on crispy walks,

you sparkle and crackle in my heart.