A place for slipping.

I disdain when I miss you,
because it's not when I should.
Supposed it to be--
in solace, lonely, dark-dim lime light.
This does happen.
But more--
more in warmth and fullness.
I am  light--
solid, strong, sublime--
but then you crawl through
and I am on my knees.
Mountain to child's pose.
I surrender.
I have to stay here--
low--
while you wash over.

A place of nostalgia.

With a breath,
of the pine,
the humidity, the sun, the nostalgia--
I have loved you for so long.

All of these years--
when I lay in the snow,
after the grass,
after the bed of flowers,
the billows of leaves--
there was always a picture of you,
you and I.

Time flies and with it--
this transcendence--
image to reality.

Then I'm laying in your sheets.
An inbreath of your skin
and warmth.

Brisk time ripped them out from under us.
Now I don't lay,
but sit,
or pose.
Contorted, awkward, misplaced.
That same pine now stuck to my face.

Back to words.

From a short blogging stint, to a long hiatus, and now finally here, I will begin to write some things again.  I have found that, more than anything else, writing allows me to actually come to conclusions about where I am inside this whirling, cascading mind. That said, blog posts mostly are predicted to contain disjointed thoughts and verse that help me focus throughout the days. I find when I am getting lost, that writing about that lost-space helps me to return to the moment. These places to follow!