In the turning, the calling Waiting for a storm That never comes Disappeared somewhere over the Great Lakes Stories in the wind Heard along highways, In parks and city streets In between this wave and the next Breaking the shore The soul breathes Humble goodbyes Pen to paper In a sea of thoughts And dreams…

I the fan makes tired conversations endless turns beat an uninvited rhythm on the window sill I listen to the deep night perched on the table edge staring at me while I fail to sleep I did not ask for this no matter how much you try to convince me slowly pulling time through shadows…

A robin hops through mud and dead grass while I wait Blue sky hiccupping white clouds Sunlight interrupted Spring wrestles with last snow In the shadows of the lodge Somewhere along the minutes and hours today I lost Lost the light and laughter Pulled down by tiny barbs Hooked through skin The robin looks at…

  I looked for you along the shore You were broken before falling into the arms of the lake cradled for years as the waves smoothed the rough edges and then left you here among the others to be found

  underneath the tree roots turn and seek the shore I sit among them feet tucked against the wood watching the creek flow somewhere beneath the bed the roots take what they need for the life of the tree water and earth to grow fish swim turtles bask in the sun my heart hurts in…

coffee grown cold on the table pages turned pen picked up put down again standing on a cliff I stare where the sky meets the lake too far away to dive in what would I say to the reflection of the moon? would I join the conversation between the waves? or simply float in the…

you are perfect in a way I can never tell you not that you shouldn’t know you are you should of course but the words are stuck inside me wrapped tightly in stubborn silence trimmed with fear of being misunderstood today your smile made me sit down when at any other time I would shuffle…

  I see that bloody fruit: an orange rolling away fro me along a sprawling table I reach to stop it from going further but always it is just out of reach. It rolls against the wood and glass, mocking in its orangey ways until it finds the table edge and leaps into the nothing…

  I am lost in the lush overgrowth of my body where water meets skin to run in tiny streams down my face over wrinkles and lines searching the centre breathe in breathe out my inner world does not match the curves I wander the paths of my soul’s estate wondering how when the mirror…

worn to bare wood the box lid fell open from my fingers old letters, ripped envelopes broken jewelry faded photographs tokens from a past I refuse to let go of history inked on lines one side conversations with the soul I didn’t ask enough questions didn’t think to wonder didn’t let fear have a foot…

    I never left the strip of sunshine that fell through the window along the carpeted floor not when the glass shattered all around me exploding the moment not when the cup spilled into deep cracks unreachable by cloth to be removed not when silence killed the music and breathing was not an option…