…you were my sun, and I stared straight into you, squinting, like I wanted you to be the last thing I ever saw.

---
excerpts from forgotten journals ~2010

Sometimes these branches freeze,
and the warm red fruit gushes through
to the tips of my leaves ~

Did you notice the seasons had changed?

I've lost the lustre of language.
Now my digits dance confoundedly
from page to page with primordial fear.

Begin again with the road behind you.
Set a course for emotional re-direction.

Sleep, and I will know you.
Wake, and I will dream again.

A turn of color wipes my cheek,
While lost in gleeful reverie.

You are my opportunity.

Silence trickles in past the doormen,
lazy at their posts --- unfocused.

I sleep to dream of you.

I'm an answer without a question,
Wrong for no reason,
And right before my time.

Poets are the architects of a chimerical paradise.
Living the intangible on corporeal public property.

It seems like the world ends where chance begins.
Your hands as ladders, laced with mine;
We always said our luck was just the residue of design.
We had forever in one handful.