I love
the statement made
in the art
that is your soul

the expression
in your eyes
when naked and bare
exposing yourself
to a watching world
you lie to me
and promise me sanctuary

from the world
from the storm

from myself



It is that resonant silence,
this unsettling sense
of what is to come,
the internal roar
held still by inertia,
as I quietly come undone;
it is that moment
of clarification
just before the storm,
the lie of peace,
the long deep breath,
the hope of the unborn;
it is the veil thinned
and the Muse’s kiss,
the raven’s siren song,
the restless sky
and the beat of time
that holds my soul aloft,
though heavy I am
against the wind,
my heart rooted in earth.

Out There

They call to me,
those wild winds,
caressing me
with the delicate roar of life,
like an oncoming storm
in the eternal hours
of summer twilight,
all the while
promising the freedom
of “out there;”

“Out There”
beyond where
sky and horizon embrace
and dreams in their maturity
are realized against
the endless backdrop of
yesterday and tomorrow,
but only after they have been chased
and the mountains of today overcome,
only after they have been caught
and given the fullness
and measure of a life lived;

out there…
where the wild winds beckon.