People speak of love as though it holds to given metrics
As if X and Y should always equal Z
And it would be alluring
Knowing outcomes so assuring
But it never works so mathematically

Gravitating all the same to traits that are opposing
Then, at other times, to ones we surely match
But never knowing clearly
Why we hold another dearly
What divides the ones we chase from those we catch?

Even writing pros, and cons, and merits, to assure us
All the logic falls apart, it always does
We edit what we’re listing
Adding pluses and insisting
That our love is something more than what it was

Knowing this, we still continue acting like there’s reasons
That with love we can assess what we should do
While never being certain
What should be behind the curtain
So we hold to leaps in logic and we all just keep pretending we’ve a clue


She stares with eyes she carved of river stones and waterfalls
Where veils of snow were made a crown
Upon her visage, looking down
And nebulas she wore about her shoulders like a shawl

Within her simple palace made of slumber, so serene
Where nightingales and idols drawn
Of sonnets sang their tidal songs
And north, her eyes, and south her heart, and shadows swam between

She carried on her shoulder pale a mark of sullen reign
With silver thread upon her wrist
Beneath a gown of autumn mist
But, ‘lo, upon a spirit frail she wore a heavy chain

Beyond the colored panes of glass where lights had never shone
Where sweetened lips and jagged teeth
Devoured heavens underneath
Her hair a waterfall, her eyes she carved of river stone


Darkness settled in like distant thunder
Stars like little phosphenes in my eyes still fighting slumber
Winds were made of gossamer
In skies of yellow bruise
Where shadows wept the loss of her
That chose but couldn’t choose
Darkness settled, I there under
Pressed into the surface of a dream as if a knot in perfect lumber

Cemetery lights on the horizon
Casting gray on everything I’ve ever set my eyes on
Songs from where the ocean ends
And eyes are vacant cast
And skeletons are left of friends
And now looks like the past
Cemetery songs, a prize when
All the world is clamoring and deaf to what the beating heart relies on

Lightning in the sea of mottled meaning
Forked like every road has been in landscapes always leaning
Sifted like an empty urn
To find a missing ring
To pay for how, like night, we turned
Into these empty things
Lightning in jar of dreaming
Left to die as time is set with hands not intervening

Tapestries of faces I remember
Hidden like a rose of white in snows of last December
Hollow roads where gardens were
Like pages bleached of ink
And every little part of her
Would vanish if I blink
Tapestries and dying ember
Pressed into the ashes of a flame that swore an oath to not surrender


I recognize the look
That says, “I’m looking,”
But I wonder
Is she looking through the keyhole
Or the cracks?

I recognize the shift
That says she’s shifting
What she says
But does she see what I could be
Or what I lack?

I recognize the look
That says, “I see you,”
But I wonder
If she’s ever really seen me
Or she can

I recognize the way
She stands delaying
When I’m near
But does she see me as I was
Or how I am?


Run, you, my one,
To lands wherein the dreams
Within your heart
Are golden doors
That ever whirl
Into your home

Let there be sun
To bask within and streams
That never part
And glowing moors
At every turn
For you to roam

And when you’re done
A hand for you, serene,
And vivid art
To go explore
With wings unfurled
But not alone

For you, my one,
Are more than any dream
In any heart
Or any door
To any world
I’ve ever known