Closer Still

We came to rest so near
to one another, at the end
On the floor of your room
Steeping in that scent of
lavender tea, calendula petals
I struggled not to smile, so
hesitant to reveal myself a fool,
because I began to feel
what I'd been hoping for,
and I thought, perhaps,
your rational defenses
were overwhelmed, awash,
dissolving away from you
And in that silent sea
we drifted even closer
Careful, I made no notice
as our shoulders touched
It was there, careening,
we painted our fingertips blue
We felt no inclination to speak
as our hands drew nearer,
and I was never so anxious
as when they finally met
I recall the feeling clearly,
but thus far can't articulate it
It was in that context
my mind held no focus,
as if it were overtaken
I acted on convolutions
of instinct and suppression
from then on out
And I still do

Little Valleys

The tree had fallen
long before he knew of it,
and in that unlikely rainforest
it lay decomposing;
enriching the soil
that once sustained it
He removed it's bark gently
Peeling it back piece by piece
and hoping to catch a glimpse
of what it might harbor
The flesh of the tree was now
waterlogged and rotting
but still somehow elegant
He'd plunge his hands in,
and the fine dust of it
came at once to occupy
the microscopic valleys
of his fingertips

Those Days

The other day Rachel asked him
if he ever was sure of Mom
He said it was her fault
and she'd admit it one day

I don't remember much of those days
Christmas one year, though pretty fuzzy,
ecstatic over articulated action figures
Sneaking to the balcony with Rachel
just to watch them watching television
Always caught and sent back to our beds
But we'd do it again, and we waited for it
Waking up to the sound of metal on metal
and the smell of sawdust from the cages
He worked in his shop always,
and I didn't know what to make of him
Winter colds with the cough gator
It somehow made the syrup sweeter
The cats, all three of them, individuals
Helmet was always my favorite
He had a BB in his leg, from a neighbor
Always a warrior, at least I thought he was
Of course, Patches, the family dog,
and we neglected her as most do
My birthday one year in the cubby,
jungle sounds, legos, and a toy gorilla
Most of all I remember coming home
fresh from school to a lonely house,
with the blinds closed and air cold
I can see him weeping on the couch
That's something that remains clear
Or sitting alone in first grade crying,
unable to understand their decision
I don't remember her, though
Can't picture her from those days
I can't even hear her voice

Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.

Orchid and Moth

He contemplated the discovery
The petals would draw one's eye
a soft white against the darkness
Phantasmal, trembling gently
upon the air's invisible currents
The orchid encapsulated
the kind of vanity
that his species idolized
And for that she was sought after
and burdened to the threshold
Her beauty only surpassed
by her vulnerability
For her very existence,
apart from their influence,
was also dependent
on the slightest insect, owl-like,
with mica-dusted wings
And the moth,
with a clandestine signature,
had matched her investment
Equally useless without her
It was something that
gave him hope, cause, inspiration
A reminder that nothing is wasted
but in the man-made realm,
and that independent lives
do sometimes intersect
to live for one another

Unbending (made-up, preoccupied)

I won't bother lying about it
I get frustrated at times,
how I can't tell if
you can't make up your mind
or if you're just waiting
to break it across my back
One night you'll be eyes to the sky,
all starlit and mystical,
and the next, submerged, clenched,
closed underwater
That's a shame too,
I've let it dig too deep before,
because I never waver
certainly, not about you
Even now, frustrated, afar,
I remain unbending

The little ones...

"I can't trust you with the big things, until I can trust you with the little ones."