Drink
I'm off the road now
It is late evening, the long summer sun is setting
I sit wearily on a grassy knoll
My canvas pack rests beside me
I must find a place to sleep; where I can unravel a thin blanket
Then when the morning rises, I again rise to the open road
But in this moment I will drink from a setting sun
Watch a dying light play on black tar that stretches out like long legs

Spirit
I walked into a cold place. It was late autumn with a large window open to a chilly air. The lights were gone, the bedroom stripped bare.
"This is where it happened," a female voice said behind darkness.
I didn't know her tone, nor was I scared.
"This is where it happened," she said once more. "Years ago, when your spirit was born, I was a soldier's girl awaiting his return."
I looked for the voice, but my eyes were too human to see at all.
"This is where it happened," she said. "He came home from war. This is where he came home from war. I can say no more."
I closed the window to make her warm and left her darkness there. But inside this curse there's an autumn wind...as an angel's soldier on my return.

Star
A thousand times I've opened a door. It leads me to a short hallway with a dark blue carpet old and threadbare.When I open this door and walk alone, sometimes late at night, I whisper to myself a question I've asked a thousand times: Where am I going? The whispered answer is often the same: I don't know. Or sometimes when I can't sleep, I'll say: perhaps I'll find a fallen star. This answer pleases me so much more.

Again
I wonder what it could have been?
The taste left on your tongue
Of me?
Of something freshly eaten,
like a fine meal
tender,
succulent,
a succor to your ailing and desperate heart
I wonder what it could have been?
If a taste left on your tongue changed you
That left you as calm as the Zen breath that fills your mind
I'll leave you now
You have peace that replaces your rancour
I have nothing to taste
Nothing, my girl
No tenderness
No succor
Just an old poem to touch my lips