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Like copper waters,
Stone-skipped over,
Threaded in silver strands of sun,
We forge and forget to the clouded past
The sterling streak of echoes cast.

Bent and worn,
Like the path to the lake,
I wish my tired wrist would make
A different wish, a longer wake
Before the bones within it break.

Dusk will drown
These heavy hopes.
(Spent rocks fall to the moonlit depths).
I will not waste the nightfall grieving.
Morning beckons their retrieving.

Stairway

From her gazes,
All the ire
Falls away
Along the spire.
Heaven-bound,
I am on fire,
Far from where I came.

From this high,
The air is thin.
It is hard
When I begin
To breath your heat
And live again,
For nothing feels the same.

So much higher
Than we got
From all the smoke
We ever sought,
Every notion
Sold and bought,
Sitting on a shelf.

Please don’t tire
Of my mind.
Not before
The maze unwinds.
Erase my lines,
Cut through vines,
And free me from myself.

Love

The bridge I walk
From days to dreams
Only bears the air between,
Nothing real on which to lean.

She is all
That keeps me high,
Hung upon her heavy sigh,
Swelling in the summer sky.

Her storm will flood
The hollow rift.
Hope will follow tides and lift
As, drawn to other lands, we drift.

Inspiration

I blink my eyes
And wake to the world,
Pulled to hope
By the anxious hand
Of a thousand unknown places.
From deep in the soul
Of the heart in my head,
I was wrung to a wreck
By the fingers of fate,
Cold on a writer’s wrist.

This place on the shore
Where dreams are shed
Is warm from the heat
Of my unspent love,
My shuffling feet,
Fidgeting digits,
Deep asleep,
Sweating passion,
Sacked like a man
Who deserves his rest.

In my slumber I speak
With the Angel of Words,
And God knows he is livid.
His voice shook the bones
Of my lazy legs
So hard that I dropped to my knees
And coughed,
As a stream of imperatives
Poured like oil
Over my skin:

“Never forget
What the heart will know.
Dreamwalk always
Through the rows
In the place where the love you found
Still grows.”

“To the footstep’s beat,
The echo weak,
Out from the dream
Your hand must reach
Past the past
And into the deep,
Looking for the place it goes.”

Dream

I am only one stress
Of so many shed,
Wrecked on the shore
Of my own damn head.
Every decent thing has fled.

I am a prisoner.
This is my prison:
Time breaks down
In a quiet fission,
Shattering another vision
Hope had sought to grow.

I am only one man
With an empty bed,
Obliging every word I bled,
Dripping still in bitter red,
Demanding only to be said.

Pray

Pray for poetry.
Cling to the pen
Until fingers freeze
And you cannot let it go.

Fast from the world
And do not drink;
Sit in waterfalls of ink
And sink.

If you feel too light,
Like all it might
Pass on through,
Pray for poetry in you.

Watch how Proverbs
Build you up,
And rhythm
Overruns your cup.

And when you pray
Asking for balladry,
God gives symmetry.
Letters, geometry.

Don’t avoid that void
Which expands your heart,
Nor condense into danger
All this art.
Feel what’s dire pull apart,
And smile
The whole while through.

Pray in the peace
Of the valley green
That words give shape
To the great unseen,
And firmly stand
That I might lean,
In darkness,
On what’s true.

Late last night
He burned the sky
With every “why”
Ever cried
Fading fast away.