Scattered Leaflets Fall Like Confetti

Standing on platforms after the last train

The scent of falling stars burn my eyes

Karma evens the scales, a jolt returning me back to life

Stir autographed story lines purposely forgotten


Fresh ink on old proofed copies, reminders still wet to the touch

Right siding my compass, the magnetic pull forcing a turn

Scattered leaflets fall like confetti, gravity pulls in one direction

Lining streets, cushioning my fall

The Crumble Before the Return

Unknown messages glimmer at night

Harness songs nervous to the ear

Only in my mind, I see

Crumbling before returning to life

Time’s short supply escapes through butterfly nets

Empty pockets patiently waiting to be filled

Redefining inner voices only I hear

The moment is now to begin again

Backward Glances Lessen

The symmetry of complicated winds

Follow a bend without an end in sight

As pages of signed guestbooks with made up names

Fall from forty stories up and settle at the side of the road


Folded notes telegraphed through two way mirrors

Ignore rain drop prayers that flow beneath the surface, unnoticed

Salted miracles covered in rose petals search for a moment of silence

As captive roads sing in hushed tones calling your name


Lost numbers found in random open windows

Lyrics without a melody tattooed on my chest

A reminder of the moment I embraced the turning point

Backward glances lessen, letting go

Runaway Canyons, After and Before

The noise of time

A windfall of the bright sun

A coincidence of a last wave

Hunting for the moon’s glow during long summer days


The space between collected leaves

Mark tales of light unwritten in notebooks

Maps that chronicle forgotten roads

Thaw quiet lessons of the history of things not carried

As the bells next door chime in different colors


The sea of possibilities beyond sympathy’s fields

Singing carols of runaway canyons alternate between after and before

Rivers frame scarlet pearls from apparitions of winds spoken in French

Tread lightly among vanishing sycamores groves, I go

The Path, There and Back

Walk the path

There and back

Prayers tucked away in chest pockets

As sighs surround dawn lights that peek behind morning clouds

Knocks on doors travel past sign posts pointing west

And I should hear footsteps, but they are nowhere to be found

Yet I find solace in the silence of two branches, bound together by beads by the roadside, I kneel

A pile of fallen leaves warm inscribed names hidden beneath

I leave it there in its open hands before sunrise, I rise

And I walk the path

There and back