it all happened so fast

indeed, friend, tis strange yet that we should find this time in lines where the horizon shows you waving to me in dreams that are not yet far from last eve as we sat on the rough stone, unshod after a night of moving to beats and sweet harmonies from the lips of friends. if there were tears they washed our soles, if there was laughter it was the clarion bell of free youth, if there were secret smiles it was because there are no ways to know the labyrinth of a woman's heart... and yet we woke when day broke, fresh and moist as the first fall apple bursting over your tongue with all its memories of the summer sun, and realized that the day was ours yet again and we should breathe deeply and take risks with our fortunes for though there will be a sunrise and sunset we are masters of the poorly illumed straits betwixt such points of light

***

buckets of rain buckets of tears and you've got all that love haven't you wrapped up somewhere in a winter coat pocket ready to take out on a cold day when fingers wander into forgotten corners looking for lost crumbs of warm memories and rainbows to tie up sorrows like heartstrings pulled tight by distance and time plucked they will sing to you of warm nights in deep woods and cool entrance into star spangled waters these days are good to the last drop don't we know it but there is that part of me that wants to find the zipper and dance right out of this skin into the moral universe that we are so bound up in so that i might swing over lakes of communal consciousness with no obligation to dive in

***

some days aren't yours at all they come and go like someone else's days but these nights are fine riding spoke blown and green minded in a city that breathes even into the morning with one great whoop of life and day to explore this and find home still tucked into a wall somewhere well oiled and smelling of bread or coffee or wool sweaters that my sister used to wear and that cup of tea on the table is for you and the dogs need a walk and who's to say what's on the other side of morning or if these ramblings are useless if steps can't be retraced and we can't know all the strangeness that passes beyond the shadows we watch flicker on the muddled walls of mindslick caves but perhaps some child will find the twine we let follow us into the labyrinth and so will not lose her way as much as i am here and you are there and we can be almost sure*


*that goodness and beauty are true and the gull soarings on dune daze will help me realize