i am thinking i lost my life
somewhere along the way
and i was buried in an eggshell

thin-skinned and polished to
the color of moss that has sat
on the northern side of things
for far too long now

you can only see me if
you walk a bit deeper into the woods
and look from the other side

you won't find the nest though
the wind took it away long ago
and left me here among the
needles of pine and wildflowers

walk by swiftly enough and
you wouldn't even see me at all
just another fragment of nature
finding my way to the beginning again

“somewhere i have never traveled”
e.e. cummings

somewhere i have never traveled, gladly beyond
any experience, your eyes have their silence:
in your most frail gesture are things which enclose me,
or which i cannot touch because they are too near

your slightest look easily will unclose me
though i have closed myself as fingers,
you open always petal by petal myself as Spring opens
(touching skilfully, mysteriously) her first rose

or if your wish be to close me, i and
my life will shut very beautifully, suddenly,
as when the heart of this flower imagines
the snow carefully everywhere descending;

nothing which we are to perceive in this world equals
the power of your intense fragility: whose texture
compels me with the colour of its countries,
rendering death and forever with each breathing

(i do not know what it is about you that closes
and opens; only something in me understands
the voice of your eyes is deeper than all roses)
nobody, not even the rain, has such small hands

remember when dreams fell from the sky like stars...

and not like teardrops from a rose.

tell me more about the willow.
I will braid the branches of
your beautiful hair as I listen.

tell me what sustains you
through the long, cold nights of
winter's dark and quiet moments.

does spring forever return,
and I see you giving shade to
the children you embrace beneath.

tell me more about the willow,
the fire burns hot, the lantern low,
and my fingers are lost in your hair.

I will listen.

The rain beats and batters the silence
of this otherwise quiet and solitary night.

I look out the window and at first glance see
two separate raindrops, sliding down the glass.
They slide, one beside the other...and as if by
the magic of magnetics, they roll together and merge,

sliding as one, the two raindrops fall...
down the sill and and with a sound of softness,
they land upon the grass below.

It is spring...the grass is growing.

I have always known you as kindness,
you guide me through to a calmer place.

Like that raindrop.