Scab

You never really notice when a wound has healed.
There’s never a moment you can say
“And then I wasn’t cut anymore,
It was all better.”
Sure, we all notice when the bleeding stops,
But that’s pretty much the extent of the average attention span.
Instead, we just absentmindedly scratch the scab off
Over, and over, and over,
Looking down in annoyance and thinking
Oh that again, isn’t it gone yet?
But we never pay any mind to that moment
(That surely must exist)
Between being hurt and being un-hurt.
We simply look down one day and realize
There’s just a small pockmark of fading pink memory
Where once there’d been a gaping hole in a dying heart.

Paradelle for Nancy

Paradelle

I watched you float into my life
I watched you float into my life
As one would watch a snowflake fall
As one would watch a snowflake fall
A snowflake watched my life float
I would watch as you fall into one.

My heart is a blizzard of passion
My heart is a blizzard of passion
Covering sorrowful past in purest white
Covering sorrowful past in purest white
Purest passion covering my sorrowful heart
A past of blizzard is in white.

Dusk has come for the last time
Dusk has come for the last time
I open my heart to day light once more
I open my heart to day light once more
To day I open the last heart
My time has come, once more light for dusk.

My past has come to light as I watched
One snowflake of the purest white
Covering my heart in sorrowful dusk
I open a blizzard, watch passion fall
My heart in time would last for a day
Once more, you float to life.

The River

The silty river sits before me
Dark waters swirling lazily
Toward some distant soundless shore,
With a tethered boat rocking gently
In the low tide.
Listless currents weakly tug at
The dim reflections of
Endless passing days.
The mysteries that lie below
The placid surface
Keep their secrets from me
And all who dwell above.

Rain

The forecast had called for sunshine,
but - as stars often do - the sun
had made last-minute arrangements,
and was unavailable for comment.

Rain, on the other hand,
was only too eager to fill in.
And so it was that I awoke, to
the soft alarm of water on steel roofs.

Not wanting to make this unexpected weather
feel overly unwelcome - though
he does quickly grow tiresome, always
telling the same old jokes and still expecting laughter -

I took a walk with him, and
we enjoyed each others quiet company.
He told me of the places he'd been
since last we'd met.

Though my leather shoes had soaked through
in his presence (he does tend to forget his manners),
I lingered a little longer; after all,
he had made quite a trip.

Briefly I wondered how he was coping
with the jet lag - and if weather patterns
suffered from such maladies -
sleeping over one continent, and waking over another.

The grinding gears of a bus rumbled through me thought,
and with a glance at my dew-flecked watch
I hastily excused myself and gathered my things,
and apologized for rushing off like this.

But he told me not to worry,
Since he'd be back soon enough,
"being the rain and all."
My laughter echoed in the damp silence,
but I was just being polite - I'd heard that one before.