Los Angeles in the Rain

Los Angeles in the rain

Wanting the feel of yesterday all over again

A life line of redemption extends her hand

Dropping heartbeats between cracks in the sidewalk

End pieces of me resting at my feet

Waiting for the touch

Yet, not all to be collected

Pieces of me left behind

A time to say farewell

Days Go By

Through the windshield, they are far in the distance

Yet I turn my head and gaze out the window, I only see a blur

Unfocused streaks leaving colored tails in their wake

Deserving of more than a moments glance

Yet it’s impossible to rewind and step back into each scene

I can only look back and reminisce fondly

Watercolors of Past and Present Blend

Sifting through a box of self-edits

Textures graze my fingertips, recalling stories left behind

Mixed emotions resurface, decide to keep me company, just for awhile

Reminiscent moments stir my senses, tasted sounds audible only to my ears

Prodding me to relive archived scenes of long ago

Watercolors of past and present blend, waiting for the sun’s warmth to dry them off

Each blurred stroke changing ever so slightly, indistinctly

My reality, who I am

Lost Odes, Not Lost Loves, Evermore

A trail of white whiskers, I follow you

Through bending trees softly singing lost odes, but not of lost loves

Quiet moments sway, hidden in deep valleys, under the cover of anticipation

Waiting for the silence to be broken by wandering suggestions of my own creation


My name escapes your lips without a sound, floating it searches

Your presence brushes by my ear, scents left behind to entice

A yearning awakens for another chance, another time, just one more time

Wanting to inhale, swallow, to drink

Embracing what lay before me this time, before it disappears evermore

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