there,

where the unfinished
is not unending
and the unrequitedness
is not infinite.

healing is inevitable.

(1.)

suddenly,

              the sun skips
          to write of love
                                          in ripples
          on the still oceans
              of auburn eyes

and in winter there is gold.

(2.)

roots of light
cleave through the gray
and ring the snowdrops

whose loving call to war
thaws the ghosts
from amber hearts

so they may drum again
unbruised

in search of them
the source of warmth
by which we kept
torpor parted from death.

(3.)

a robin
    sits
    resting on your gravestone

and heaven remembers

that you were once
                      more than just a stretchmark on a tree

that in fact
      at one time
            you were everything.

(4.)

the roses unfold
once more at night
to bloom
howling under a full moon

and compose a lullaby
of temperate fragrance

to tuck in the dreamers
beneath weighted blankets
of sweetened
pink night mists

and as though
conducted by time
everything becomes an instrument
in the orchestra of existence.

(5.)

a stray shepherd
guides his flock of thunder
to graze the fields of black

forever locked
            in their timid dance
with shore

and relives
unshared lifetimes
in the mellow silence
that parts
the
      hiccupping
of
    sky

until the whole world chokes
on the inherent emptiness of everything

on the wishbone
                      he once broke

on a stranger’s wildest smile.

(6.)

scrapbooked wildflowers
tattoo themselves onto blank pages

because spring
cannot help
but bleed fictions of itself

like Eve
and I

just dreams
wrung from mother’s tear ducts

something warm for lonely cheeks

just colors
dancing on closed eyelids

noiselessly fleeting

like sorrow’s sun kissed whispers
smothered by the dusk pierced reeds.

(7.)

sometimes people
will become rivers
within you

and you may cast your heart
into these waters

but still they flow
indifferent

and you may cast
the bones
of they who loved them once
into their icy grasp

but still they flow
disinterested and undisturbed

because some things
are not meant
to be overcome

some things
are simply meant
to be endured.

(8.)

if all we ever really were
was just a field of dandelions
repeating itself
across all lost corners
of this heavenly dirt

I am glad
that even though
I got so tangled up
in all that God forgot

you so adamantly refused
to be unlearned.