Storm A symphony of storms Play out on the horizon. A Percussion of lightning Cracks the sky worlds, Worlds away. The girl by the shore Whispers the sailors shanty, and keeps the Bellow of the sea in her ears as The surf breaks, Tumbles over her feet. Her footprints trail behind her. She holds the biting cold Between her teeth and watches the gulls Soar home, the rising storm In their wings. And as she watches In the sharp of night, She bears the weight Of the stars on her shoulders, and wonders If she could outrun the dawn. As the first raindrop Runs down her cheek She treads the sand and beat of waves; Way hey, and up She rises.

The Water's Fine I'm in the water, waist deep. I'm studying it with my touch and taste, feeling drifting chills come and haunt me so that I bury myself down into the depths, coating my head and the rest of me with the glittering nip. I'll stay there for now. I want to make you worry, to dip in after me and touch the coldness that touches me in the dark of water as you brush my skin. Too much thought for one dip, so I come back up and see you sitting there, waiting for my head to bob out from the surface. I know from your look that you're waiting for my voice to say, Come on in. The water's fine.

a River then, now a Stream I'm from... adventures down the river, soaking in it as the cold ran over me like the night itself and scraping the sandy bottom with my young, naked toes, screaming to the skies full of stars with their lonely moon in an effort to make myself hears over the glittering waters, and brushing the surface beneath my finger- tips, tracing them through the waters, leaving my mark.

To Yourself Even as you enter, The room Hums And the music Flows. Even as you enter With your Disturbing steps. The bottle in your hand is Still warm from where You last Touched It, droplets of cold Trickling onto your knuckles. You Can almost Taste The hand-print. You sit down, take in The taste from your Hand-printed bottle, and Watch the private poets Make love In their corners- they have alcoves Of taste, in tune to The flow, The flutterings. You soak in a Sea of Sound, remedy to your Heart and hands- the Salt is sweet, pours Into your ears like poison, Touches your tongue In honey dew Drops. The window is open, and guitar strings Flutter under player's Hands. He Plucks his last Chord and you Leave with your bottle, Satisfied.

Ode To Home I remember this place. Glimpsed, Longed for as the train Leaves the station and Trundles past Sun-scorched fields. I knew it, once. Knew its roads, its trees, And the Endless thread Of Wild wood tracks. I knew, Knew how the willow Wept, cried herself into the Brook until the tears Swept away and I Caught them, shook them Dry and fed them To the earth. I knew, Knew how the summer Lit up the world, set the Land alight and my eyes, My eyes caught The flames and set them Deep until I became Fire. And in my longing I burn, remember This place and set my Memories down, Down. I'm soft as the Tears fall, Glimpsed. And, In my longing, I know that the fire will Never fade.