Could have

painted pictures,

instead carried

up a corpse.

Walked away

with roses,

two stranded thread

for warps.

Behind,

an empty tomb

lined with

metallic gold.

Blued palms,

legs and arms,

part of the soul

I sold.

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I and the you

this is me,

know what

it means

to let it be.

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Asked with tongue,

and your heart replied.

Not drifting,

it’s a summer tide.

Strangers in a crowd,

side-by-side.

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Painful watching the dead die a second death.

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Life

Mirrored man

of mind’s eye;

I heard

them sing,

your line

falls short.

Walk tall,

along that

cold blue floor.

On arid land,

from sand,

to shore.

Your hand

in mine,

taking my line

as yours.

Low light, clouds over daylight.

Nights dark, darker than darkness.

Distance keeps it in your region,

not becoming,

I’m unlike your people. 

Events of an insipid life,

now worn as truths you lack.

What earth pulled down,

moon pulling up 

from land takes back.

Rivers wide running high,

washing away what I feel.

Only you’re sure of what you see,

sayin’ what is said to keep it real. 

I’ll take the hand of a thief,

telling I’ve nothing left to steal.

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From

misplaced joke,

an ungloved hand,

stricken heart

stirring storms

on land.

To the

mourning dove,

heard from

wire perch above,

Cooing

higher thoughts

than thoughts

of love.

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