Phases of The Moon (flowers for Mark)

if there was doubt
and uncertainty
and fire where I rest,
then might I reach
for a piano
or the phases of the moon
for the answers
(they are elusive)
while I relearn to stand.
my species has been pinned and mounted
in a box that's been lost
somewhere at the top of the world.

Words to describe these things
feel awkward, weak and overpowered.
I struggle for the lesson
to teach the invisible,
to embrace the negative space
inside you.
Like water dripping from a
from a leaf into a lake,
from a causeway unto the state at play
highway; washing all the
oil and blood away.

he pressed on...
he pressed on...
he pressed on without you.

That I wanted to kiss,
that I wanted to be,
to eat, to be inside
and outside you.
To find someone
Who will not be afraid,
stand against staid,
unfettered by the light
of missed yesterdays.



along for the ride