The world was soft to my bones.
Not even the touch of a feather could come close to this perfection.
It unsettled me. The surface was as calm as the lake
where I once took a walk
away from here.
It was so calm you couldn’t tell which part of the mirror was real.
The world
turned in adventure and formed a cycle. It rotated, tilted
sideways, aligned, turned once more. What was left was the recycle
of the memories of adventure.
I turned, just like the world.
Holding on to what was gone wasn’t in my bones
I filled the world with vivid visions
and came with it some struggles with the visions. I filled the world
with void,
and came with it a redemptive isolation.
The vision became a void and the void became a vision
and the isolation was just not here
The world, soft to my bones, calm
as a lake, captures a longing
with a belongingness
so near. Perhaps it is

I am
kissing the Earth, so close I hear the rumbling of its joy.
Its roots are entrenched, energy
emerging from the deep brown, and one cannot pull love
out of the ground. Love
is there, and it has always been

The night grounds our bodies as we fall into the sheets.
The day is a dream as we drift
towards unknown shores. Coffee grounds
still left on the cup.
They are being washed away by the water filling the cup. Now
it is clear and empty. We

– you and I –
have been separated by our grounds,
cleansed by waters separating our bodies.
In the change of tides, I hear the rumbling of your joy.
The world
is turning and something has come full circle.
Off to searching again
for that which we will never find.