Linger

I want to want what I have in my hands. Or the possibility – which is where I have always gotten lost. This is the sharp left turn that leads me to nowhere, for all things are at their best before they happen into existence.

How beautiful our expectations look in the dark. How shameful we feel when they emerge in the light of actuality. I prefer to remain in an in-between  world, one of shadows, a grayness. A passage where possibility lives in limbo, the sliver of space in the middle of what is and what could have been. I’ll choose not to walk through, lingering as the patterns in my eyes dance in the doorway.

Sequoia Roots

Frail branches look to the sky
for guidance.
A grey demeanor makes today
Seem all the nicer
with twists of contrast and control.

Swirls of swaying sea green backdrops.
Raindrops
brewing around outstretched arms
Aching and sore
Soaring in circles are
The ideas of all that is and the

Premise for what was to be.

Growing spaces between
Fingertips and toes
Spread wide
So as not to get too close to
what was.
The blue breaks, leading us to
Where we find ourselves
Again and again.