In Principle

-------In Principle-------

A purity in thought 

forgives the need to know everything.

For time is a history of patterns,

and we 

an expression 

of the cause.

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In Dreams

-------In Dreams-------

I want to feel her like falling in a dream;

a thousand feet

with no end

in the pit of my stomach.

I have stood at the edge before,

but only in dreaming have I taken the step forward,

and felt that likeness to flying 

in every part of me.

She is gone.

But is it any less real 

to feel something so strongly in the absence of its presence

than it is to touch and feel nothing at all?

I've heard the fall never ends in death, so long as the dreamer wakes up.

I hope that someday 

I have the courage to take that step

and hold someone with the honesty of such a feeling.

I know that I can 

because I have felt it before.

I know that I want to 

because I always carry it with me.

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Mirrors Inward and All Around

-------Mirrors Inward and All Around-------

The ice is stretching out away from shore now,

into the deeper waters.

Like an idea 

it starts in on the surface. And

like the becoming of belief,

with one frozen night upon another,

the cold carries itself deeper into the bones of a lake.

Tucked in by an icy sheet

until the Spring comes,

as its promised it always would.

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The Dimly Lit and Whispers

-------The Dimly Lit and Whispers-------

It was just a sound that brought her back,

through the cracks and pain 

of a life lived for somebody else.

Was it her choice, or the momentum of an idea

that carried her off her feet into the sunset 

toward that novel and futile dream?

More than a mother and more than being a wife,

she is,

before those, within them and after for always.

No thing but a sound, 

dug deep into her bones, 

where the barefooted and free still were.

But how easy those bones are broken 

by a world that can use her

for her body and her love.

A world and household that she holds up.
A world and household that has forgotten how to both hold her
and how to let her go home.

Deep into the bones and deeper still,

the softest touch

of tunnels the leaves make for the winds to find her through.

The dimly lit

and whispers,

nothing but a sound.

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