i watched myself in the mirror
there shattered on the floor
a thousand pieces of me
scattered, staring back

there can be no mending
it seems
once the glass is broken
just sweep the shards up
toss them away
– forgotten

what lays beyond that moment
that moment of refuse?
the glass then ground
to powder by another hand
and fire to melt it to form again
not what it once was
but something…

in that fusion
born from destruction
not new, not more
never the same and yet it is

how sad to see
the thousand me’s disappear
without another thought
while somewhere another
works to mend the glass

and i –
i am left standing
looking everywhere
but at myself.

~

misted fields bathed
in autumn gold
leaves glisten with the morning

lines of sunlight breaking
through the trees
cut the ribbon of road
winding through
swirling and dancing

gossamer thoughts
float in amongst the hovering
passing like walking
through spirit

i cannot be still in this stillness
even the birds can
in their morning slumber yet

i move with the winds
down and along the gravel road
when it turns
and leads away from here
this one moment so perfect

then gone
with the rising sun
and another day

this mist like the day
holds everything and nothing
a breath of life
that waits
and falls away
with the warmth

i long for that moment of clarity
which lets me see
just as things are not
as i want them to be.

the falcon cries to warn
of its hungered flight
and even its wing is hushed by the
cloak of morning

all too soon i am gone
turning again along the road
and i breathe in as i pass
while the light dissolves
my reflection in the mist

this fear
this love
this is my wall
i cannot break it down
or let it go
i hear it mumbling
in quiet tones
to find peace
solace
is that what i want?
always the goal
has been to love
and be loved in return
but who can do this
when i cannot simply
manage the high crested waves
that crash over
or drown me in the pull
unseen yet devestating
or when the sunlight
on the water blinds me
with its reflection
on a still afternoon
i have seen there
that i am my own wall
there in that instant of
blindness
how can i break
myself
to the point where
no wall
will be built again?

~

caught in the reflection
in the glasses on the desk
perched on books and papers
here, now more than for reading
i realize… and ask

what do i see there?

the window
sharp lines
on more glass
and sunlight that falls over me
more
what do i see there?

gentle curve of metal frame
while the seeing is held
through them
what don’t i see there
when i am wearing them?

seeing now
from the other side
of the lens..
the lines and shape
the light and shadow
the moment
and everything that i don’t see
looking through
looking away

~

life
living through the cracks
in moments
like glimmering shafts
of sunlight
through the broken window slats
of an aging house
maybe brief
until the clouds come
or the moment has passed

i am jealous of the cracks
and all that falls through
forgotten treasures
spilled like salt
here even where the cracks
can be the straight lines
to someone
to somewhere
expected
more subversive
– perhaps

than the seemingly lost
but there – caught again
in the light
glinting like diamonds
waiting to be noticed
~

turning in a moment
of bliss
like thunder chasing
the wind

silence

the sound of the ripple
after the first tear falls
after the last drop comes home
echoes within me

turning
in a moment
like thunder
chasing silence
after it passes

when the wings stop beating
and the wind is still as death
between nowhere and everywhere
i am free

~

i can feel me
slowly going
breath that
spills over the lips
and leaves
no lingering kiss
nothing changes
the sun still shines
the cicada mourns
its day of life
crying loudly in the pines
everything is changed
– somehow
still following
the breath
as it lifts
the orange robed butterfly
up into the clouds

~

little sparrow
fragile wing
misunderstood
unknown
pause here
please
before you fly again
mend
to be free

~

the house of my soul is too small
thoughts, hopes, dreams
sit in hapless piles
like mismatched socks
forlorn, forgotten
almost
except for brief moments

there’s no room on the shelves
one thing slips off and again
it falls in a heap
crashing somewhere be low
waiting to be picked up
put away
replaced

if you dig through
who knows what may be found
i’d call it Christmas
but even that won’t help
to describe the treasures hiding
in the deep debris
waiting to be remembered
waiting to be noticed

the house of my soul is too small
much too small
i said that already
now it is more the mournful cry
pitiful recognition
that nothing else can fill the spaces
what to do?
what to do?
come in like a breath of life
like a swift running river
to wash everything all away
i wish it all away
not tidied and
reorganized
– waiting
furtively to explode
out of carefully labelled boxes
but just done and gone…

what remains after
well, can stay i suppose..
whatever it could be i don’t know…
something to remind me
that the house is too small
and space is
always at a premium
choose wisely or
not at all…
because the house of my soul
is much too small

~

white clouds
reflected
in the window
slipping quickly by
even at a glance
who watches them go?
besides me…
though even i do not
really watch
since only their reflection
is what i see…
who watches

~

the air
is rank
heavy
each window closed
– sealed tightly
with no possibility
of renewal
except
with the shattering
of the glass
strange
how in the shattering
the sting of betrayal
is deeply felt
who is betrayed
when the cool autumn
breezes finally
can flow through

~

little sparrow take this pause
a breath to sustain you

to lift your wing above me
to the sky to the sun and back again

little sparrow
i can’t know you now
in your frantic search
along the ground

this food eludes you… again and again
though you keep searching ..

little sparrow rest
the moment waits for you
to mend

the day is not long to ending
and i am here to hold you
reassure you
and let you go
once more