Missing presence

Between the colors of a hint of you
Present in the moment as thoughts turn to words
unspoken and remembered between the pages of our days
mysteries of tomorrow
of a quiet yesterday.
Dreams move past like trains at night
whistles empty and a ghostly rumble
moving in the darkness
here then gone,
solitary light to mark the end
as it moves farther from view.
Then only silence lays in the place
where strangers unmet passed from this place
as we watch and wait for a new day
beside the track that lies empty, waiting.
The wind begins to pick up speed
as the moon sits silent and cold above
and we wander the night
in search of a light
wondering where it has gone,
the muse of a conductor barreling through
pull the cord and let his presence be felt
in the solitary wail of a train
passing through unnoticed
except by a few
who needed to feel the rush of movement
as the earth moved below feet
and sound rushed by
heading onward to the next crossing.
In that moment of peace and silence
caught somewhere between
the dreams of a morning yet awakening
I thoughht I heard his laugh
carried on the breeze
as he slipped away like a storm
out on the wind
always moving.

In the light of a universe

I stood there cloaked in the light of a thousand stars,

glittering like rain that won’t fall

suspended above this questioning soul.

I reached up as if I,

a mere mortal,

could touch one,

as if I could reach so far to the heavens,

and the cool emptiness of my hands left me sad

although I understood,

the hollowness that sat within

like the weight of a hundred years

and I asked my questions to the silence

and only the echo

of a distant dog was heard in reply.

Such a solitary place it is within a star,

so far away and so many wishes

yet unable to answer

except in falling,

always so rare.

Pale glitter painted sky of my dreams,

touched by the brush of such a gifted hand

and as I sit here quietly watching

each day that plays out

I bless the clouds for keeping their distance

when I needed to see,

to feel so very deeply

this beautiful piece hung for my pleasure.


Muse of the garden

She comes to me in this place of peace and solitude, a fish out of water perhaps, or just an accidental tourist searching for beauty. We wander through landscapes filled with magic, and I feel her eyes upon me as we move through corridors of color.

Perhaps she is a kindred spirit lost and found, shy of the surroundings and banked in her thoughts of oceans blue and colored fish that swim silently by. Her world is fluid and moving, a far cry from this garden that took so much work by so many hands. Each stem of green winding its way towards the sky, burdened by the weight of the blooms as they unfold, and yet here she hangs by silently watching as it all transpires around her, here is where she has been planted, so far from her restless sea.

I long to place a shell at her feet. To tell her all I’ve seen of her home, that I too know how it feels to be so far from the known, transported to a foreign land that is so beguiling and beautiful, that my feet have walked upon her homes sandy shores and of the views I became a part of as I swam above the waves while peering down below. The muse of the garden, silently watching and waiting for a sign, swimming in flowers, drowning above dirt.

Perhaps someday she will return, for now so far beyond the sea the siren has no song to sing for me, but perhaps on nights when the moon is full she will remember the words, hear the memory of the waves crashing, and she will sing. Yes, she will sing.