yellow moat

always in construction
around the primary soul
orbited at the speed of sound
by the soul of a loves
quite as concrete
as its gravity prison
but impossible to deblur
into redolent colors
so, a little sunshine trap
set just in case
hope has to rise
off the sour ashes
of Pompeii

a necropolis of placebo

whose time wash
lingers between
case study and fellow
where many paradoxes
sing together
of human faith
loosely held
with currency origami
adorning familiar shapes
transformed with pity,
applause and hopeful fears
into hand touch
night vision
the closest approximation
of life
you ever saw

windchime day

for listening
wavering, in the face of change
tea and songs of missing colors
weeping without paper sponges
the tracks of a baby balm
a solemn gathering,
of all noticeble threads,
of a vague belief
silences and silences
large uneven rifts in time
to invoke at will
an acute conscious still life
to discard goal and reason
for hope and dream