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Courage,
fringed with insanity,
caused you to join the fray,
plucked from the depths
of sleep in the new moon.
I heard you shudder
as the swirl took 
you higher,
twisting flakes
lifting you into
the inky sky.
I waited in the new snow,
straining to see you
gently floating 
down to earth beside me.
We lay in the fresh blanket,
making snow angels
and watching the 
stars appear 
one by one,
marking the end 
of tumult.

Because it is faith,
we think it has never been
wrestled with,
pinned down in the
dark of cold night,
questioned in the moment
when despair is an ocean.
The surface of conversation
avoids the deepest of convictions,
the most personal of trials,
the persistence of hope.
we cover it with labels
and innuendo,
a myriad of boxes,
conveniently ordered.
I see you in my minds eye,
thrown into an earthly hell
puppeteered from a distance
where freezing to death
is only an idea.
You have offered up what matters most,
life,
with a faith that 
shrinks and shrivels
all else.

Night offers up secrets,
whispered rustlings of silk,
a puff of air upon
smooth skin.
Time moves forward and back,
unrestricted by the boundary
of ego.
Kindred spirits mingle
and laugh,
sharing conversations
singular in origin,
revealing when connected.
Today has no morning alarm,
and though restless,
I wander back into
the dreams where everyone 
lives,
open to secrets
in the silence of dawn.

You harbored love
as if it was limited,
something torn apart
by time,
to wither and bankrupt
from the inside out.
At first I wondered
if both love and
time had frozen 
that long ago night
in your backyard,
dropping the sky
around you as the
earth slipped away below.
And so I waited.
Time ribboned.
You didn’t harbor love,
but hoarded it,
turning gifts into
accounts,
measuring and tallying.
And so I left,
swinging into crystalline,
blue sky.
Limitless.

Rarely do thoughts
cross the edge
into dreams.
My mind spins in
the margin of space
before sleep,
deftly dodged by
the wisps of subconscious,
left to gather and hide,
waiting for rousing
sunlight to stream through
the window.
Those that wander the
strangely linked scenes
of the night
push into the margin
of the day,
challenging reality,
gathering ghosts.

Heavy rain provides
a clean canvas,
that rarest of chances
to wander from the
well worn path, 
to wash like watercolors
from a rainbow.
Fresh tracks,though,
follow the trails
they always have,
believing the single stories,
never venturing into
the space carved
by walking toward those
souls we don’t yet know.
The freshness fades,
and with it this
chance to be 
someone bigger.

Words swirl through the room,
prejudice thrown by strangers.
I wonder if they sense
my anger and incredulity.
Years of practice
allow me to hide in
plain sight.
Shame and disappointment
gather like a cloud bank
in the humid midst of summer.
My words are swallowed,
bitter to me
and lost to the world.
Discounting and demeaning
those we do not know
has lived as long
as history,
narrowing minds
and costing lives.

Our rambling conversation
gradually reveals 
your assured expectations
that everyone will
follow the lines,
no matter how narrow
and constrained you 
paint them.
As I listen and nod,
I wonder at how 
to ready you for
the free will of
those you love.
Learning to hold
a butterfly with open
fingers arrives
only with a certain
unraveling of life.
I can only prepare myself,
ready to shelter you
as wisdom roars down
into your arranged
and shattering world.

Summer settles into 
a humid routine,
punctuated by evening
rumbles of thunder,
heralding the steady
downpour of tropical climates.
I watch you slide into
a chaise lounge at the
edge of a pool,
your face shaded
under a wide straw brim,
your eyes behind wayfarers.
Camouflage suits you
and your traitorous thoughts.
She sidles over to the 
nearest chair,
similarly hidden from view,
barely clothed,
slick with sheik.
Those who believe you
are hunched behind
the wall of your cubicle
are openly expectant of
your clear and honest intent.
They will be permanently
disappointed.