love, Poetry from The Well, Time

We Have Nothing To Share

Rainbows and sunsets

always sulk behind the lens.

So does the shine

stretched across your eyes,

so does the tilt

of your bottom lip.

It’s no wonder we

look washed out.

Pass me the last one.

We work hard at night.

How could we share

the hours, layers

of icy breath

lifting toward

winking stars?

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Photographs, Poetry from The Well

Where To Keep Your Dreams

snow2014

Does your tongue dare

try to share

watery scenes from your dreams?

Details emerge, blunted,

soggy, half-blind beneath this morning’s

heavy traffic – thoughts stretching, streaming

out from wherever they sleep.

Dreams pay a heavy price when

words catch up – latch on – smudge

the elusive dream language.

Don’t dreams just taste better

safe in the solitude

of your heart’s cradle,

sleeping undisturbed?

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Photographs, Poetry from The Well

Winter Mornings

wintry

Have you one person

knocking at your heart?

She has grown too big

for the space you cleared out

years ago.

You feel her nudge

on winter mornings;

across the mountains

her body rests

warm and safe in bed.

But her dreaming eyes

soak up secrets leaking

through her dreams –

she is being chased –

she is trapped at the very top –

she is lost – she is slipping –

Is that you chasing her?

You just wish her thoughts

spun soft,

light as the tapering snow.

Beneath the blanket

she grips hot sheets

with sweating hands.

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Life, love, Poetry from The Well, relationships

Shadow of the North Star

penns cave

In his eyes

there is no horizon in sight.

Two lush pools watch you

from the height of the moon’s

mother. Dirt from underneath

his feet clumps and crumbles

the same as the mascara clinging

to your lashes. Raindrops mix

easy with tears. The clocks spin

round as loyal blood passes

through cave after cave

of your insides –

in his eyes

sits a shadow of the North Star.

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Daisy, Life, Moving, Photographs, Poetry from The Well

Allergic to the New Apartment

We sniffle

I press my face into

milky white tissues

 

The sterile ceremony

a fluttering pile

towers toward the ceiling

 

Meanwhile she rubs her face

across every patch

of carpet

 

Dirt and fuzz

cling to her sticky nose

for a free ride

 

We sneeze

I sigh in misery

feet dragging

 

She licks my face

sharing dusty kisses

just glad to be home

girly

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Mind, Photographs, Poetry from The Well

Swing the Sun

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You can’t fool me,

icy eyes (heart of glass),

I see your dry hair beneath the mist

I swim inside the hot blood funneling to your

brain and if I must

I will drag through clumps of snow

cased in ice —

I will swing the sun around

so you can crawl over baby

blades

of

grass —

 

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Poetry from The Well

whether here or there

I followed you

then I hid you

 

kept my back near the outskirts

by all the ways out

 

Couldn’t stick to the speed

of your orbit

 

so here I go – floating off –

            planet alone –

farther away – I mourn –

            what it means to be inside –

your hive –

 

from here I hear

happy laughter gushing

like a waterfall

 

whether here or there

 

it remains to be seen

 

if I remain to be seen

Otaki 037

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