~regaining simpatico we've been awake since summer breath-starved & running wild against the last light like Davis & Coltrane we composed our own kind of blues changed dandelions into cheap wine rolled up a greening wide night & smoked the grassroots hallucinating small #poems in a whisper too low our mouths full of birdsongs full of ghosts & lullabies unlocking secrets from the broken treble of our tongues questioning the bones of the sun we became the blur of our shadows as the darkening commenced - an atrium of ink & when the sky lowered we climbed out of the moonlight, naked & new our souls stretching in the half-read distance turning over old words from versed seasons the voices of our roots & their prayers for the rain how we've forgotten the taste of wind bringing back the air our eyes listening at the periphery our hands still full of reach lah ©

~rote it's winter & the night smells of smoke & ache I'm alone in a house full of black ink a thousand miles from here searching for something that belonged to you older than an apology something quiet like the cadence in caesuras of february's shifting snow as white as an empty page it's always winter & I am not this when I measure the sound of clouds moving their darkness like yesterday's words & when I measure the thickening air between us by months by my shadow's long bones sleeping in a bed of separation it's the same way I assemble assonance in a small room with small walls as it calls out metaphors until it echoes in my ribs, ghosting my voice it's still winter & I remember forgetting I'm growing older colder between these sheets writing you in this #poem I pretend to be & trying to name this grief lah 7.10.17 ©

~defined like water to the moon she rises undiluted & distilled her breath spills saffron fog on the bay as if smoke chasing shadows she is the after-storm that birthed the sun the color of her name paints time splits a moment in half to blue an unmade sky with the gravity of ghosts & a wild light lifted from long-ago her flight, as perfect as a #poem her wings, a vessel to move us

~quietly evening kindles driftwood ambering soft hills how like the wind to be so still on long nights of poetry swans carving sonnets across the pond ©lah