that's mrs. mediocrity to you

the color of love
and the scent of sunshine

sweet and sharp
short and poignant

ephemeral

…

…

i threw away all the curtains
because i want to see everything

i’ve grown old on a mantle of marble
i’ve breathed love into statues of stone

i wrapped grey over hard faded rainbow
because gold is the color of own

…

us vs. them
man vs. nature
you vs. me

there’s a circle and a triangle
buried deep in the heart
of every clock

and we run from time
long before
the chase begins

i am here
and you are forest

or i am there
and you are tree

one of us always
rooted

…

the day starts

with

tea and sunshine

rye and wheat

mess and murmur

that’s it

that’s all there is

…

time winds down

and i think of hours

minutes

days

spent

chopping slicing dusting folding sweeping typing
designing walking rinsing eating reading roaming
washing preparing gathering weeding building
sorting sifting scrubbing changing twisting

staring at sky

loving

living

i built a new corner
and walked straight into it

left the paint on the floor

drying

held my arms high and my head straight

buried the forgotten

forgave the remembered

worshiped nothing

but silence
and the tenacity

of trees

throwing spring green buds
into air

like so much
confetti

hawk eye sky circus
circling pattern and crisscross river
wing map walk back
reveal

and now they say it’s not that bad, the sky isn’t
falling and here we are, bits of blue in our hair,
trapped in the rat-maze tracks we’ve worn in the
carpet, no longer even trying to get out.

and now they say sorry, so sorry, sorry, not sorry
and no one knows who cares, doesn’t care,
can’t care, wouldn’t care, cares too much,
has gone mad with the caring, can’t find
a damn thing to care about.

and now the sky is blue but it’s always raining and
the basement’s flooding, water seeping in around
the edges, no one sees if we close the door, ignore
the smell, carry on with dinner and distraction and
pretend people aren’t dying in a dark spreading puddle
of sour statistic.

and now. the question that only ever has one
answer, the damned unprepared living of it all,
smiling when the sun hits your face for one brief
silent moment, aching for life, alive love
laughter landing, burning through the
empty stare of days.

and now.

…

in the black lace
morning moment sunrise
hand held branch felled heart meld
water warped meander walk
of worship

…

the taste of tea and whispers of envy

smells of green and cinnamon
rolling through a harbor of unbalance

too late too much too early too little

promises skitter in every dark corner

wallflower flower built for keeping
pressed between pages

hidden bouquet