Laying here before 
long past after 
just looking outside 
I wonder how 
long I’ll wait 
before I drag
these weary bones 
to the kitchen 
here is comfort 
there is cold 
and the quiet 
of rainy mountain 
mornings makes yawning 
and coffee hard
where’s that finger 
from old cartoons 
tickling my nose 
carrying me above 
the icy floors 
like I’m on
a magic carpet 

These words 
little stones
upon which 
I walk
some wet
and slippery
some coarse
but they
all lead
for those 
found behind 
have the 
footprints of 
thine eyes 

I was lost
now I’m found 
not by others 
they never came 
looking in this 
hide and seek 
but rather I
in the wood
behind the elm
under the ash
sitting there waiting 
my soul talking 
to my heart
making their plans

You can’t claim 
victim if you’re 
unwilling to stand 
any more than 
you can claim 
victory unwilling to 
fight the unwell 
can stay behind 
but the strong 
have an obligation 
take up arms 
mouth or sword 
or forever silent 

Orange turns yellow 
every day autumn 
black becomes blue
and gray white 
the sky molts
peeling away parts 
like a tangerine 
in the impatient 
hands of children 
anxiously waiting to 
find the sweet 
aren’t we all 
just like that