I could have left a note
but it’s windy over there near the bay
You’ll be back before the melting
they remind us every day anyway
I listen to Neve and The Deer Children
sing songs in a language I do not understand
Which path did you choose at the crossroad
I wonder over morning coffee
Where is her other hand you’ll probably ask
when you arrive and find my sign
Why are there no footprints
either coming or going
clarity
contemplate your resurrection path
winds are strong today
avert the fragile makers
empty vessels travel weightless
anchors having all rusted away
your hair obscures your view
yet you see what needs be seen
a blurring
a sign
a single thread
soft speaking from the edge of
a craggy cliff
a hem of your old sweatshirt
Bleak was the day
rain clouds beat the sunlight away
Then a beacon out of the grey
subtle Moonbeam calling my name.
Some try
to find
poet phrases
ex-pounding unique
big diction
coloured fiction
flash rhythm
funky creek
while naturals
glide on.
Pencil Notes 