You exist
in this space
beside me.
a warm 2 and a half foot
by six foot
existence;
a warm circumference left
when you get up.
I trust
that you still exist
when you are not beside me,
a child learning peek-a-boo
can guess about the same.
But is more comforting to think
for a time
that you do not exist
with out me there--
without my
permission.
Who are you
when not with me?
you are a different person-- ingauging
in different
relationships,
different observances;
different thoughts.
with out me.
this is when
idenity
and relationship
come to mean
separate things.
When I am
a parcel
of yours;
of you,
and you are a parcel,
of mine;
of me.
So I am
AFRAID
--there, I said it--
of losing what I have
of you.
But isn't it truth
that we never have someone's heart?
It is just on loan, a undefined time limit of ocupation?
Isn't it Truth
that we always have someone's heart?
a gift, with warranty, of an undefined limit?
Truth is, I have no warenty
on our hearts
We have no
loan.
Trust.
and love.
and faith.
these three remain.
Thursday, December 20, 2012
Friday, October 26, 2012
a prayer
what will I do with life.
Stuck between want of meaning,
of doing good,
and finding meaning,
finding good
in all things.
but it is not in all things.
what do i want
to do
what will i do
with the rest
of life.
I am sick of shallow people
I am sick
sick of the shallow
of myself.
Problem:
i find most joy
in what may be considered
the shallow
the hallow--
or do i?
color.
form.
order.
composition.
typography.
I want to make things
look good
for those who do good.
I want my designs
to be informed
by informing
myself
with what is done--
I want goodness
I want truth
I want these to create
Beauty.
how do i use
a passion
for a good?
or, sometimes it seems,
more importantly,
how do you
get paid for good?
Idealist.
what is worth while?
goals-- dreams.
Aaron has those, not me.
what do I want to do?
I know what i want to be doing,
not what I want to do.
I want to ask questions
and never stop.
Stuck between want of meaning,
of doing good,
and finding meaning,
finding good
in all things.
but it is not in all things.
what do i want
to do
what will i do
with the rest
of life.
I am sick of shallow people
I am sick
sick of the shallow
of myself.
Problem:
i find most joy
in what may be considered
the shallow
the hallow--
or do i?
color.
form.
order.
composition.
typography.
I want to make things
look good
for those who do good.
I want my designs
to be informed
by informing
myself
with what is done--
I want goodness
I want truth
I want these to create
Beauty.
how do i use
a passion
for a good?
or, sometimes it seems,
more importantly,
how do you
get paid for good?
Idealist.
what is worth while?
goals-- dreams.
Aaron has those, not me.
what do I want to do?
I know what i want to be doing,
not what I want to do.
I want to ask questions
and never stop.
Monday, October 1, 2012
turn out like a spout--
dreams--
splatter, smattered, like batter, onto floor
concrete
the street
cold-- oiled, bold.
too big for me
to shurg on,
to keep buttontoned.
to tight
to breathe
to keep zipped,
so i shed it to the floor--
too much
I fear
is near-- falling out,
oh, doubt--
who am I?
Where am I?
Shout.
now count
the minutes you spend,
the hours, like towers, building
till gone and dead
is your oppertunity
to improve your imunity
to this world
to this
in action.
become raidoactive,
your dreams,
till it seems you'll burst with potential
instead of consequential
death
of self-- instead
die by never giving into the lie--
become.
then, it will be done.
dreams--
splatter, smattered, like batter, onto floor
concrete
the street
cold-- oiled, bold.
too big for me
to shurg on,
to keep buttontoned.
to tight
to breathe
to keep zipped,
so i shed it to the floor--
too much
I fear
is near-- falling out,
oh, doubt--
who am I?
Where am I?
Shout.
now count
the minutes you spend,
the hours, like towers, building
till gone and dead
is your oppertunity
to improve your imunity
to this world
to this
in action.
become raidoactive,
your dreams,
till it seems you'll burst with potential
instead of consequential
death
of self-- instead
die by never giving into the lie--
become.
then, it will be done.
Sunday, June 10, 2012
diluted deed
what do you do
when you must protect
self?
when you need
to be
good
strong
whole--
it becomes hard
to accept
your wrongs
weakness
brokeness--
hard
to change
because
it it is hard
to see.
"the light came into the darkness, but the darkness did not comprehend it,"
yes, forgiveness
is hard
to comprehend.
but you
seek the good in me
even though
it seems
you seek out the worst
bring out
the worst
challenge me.
really, you just venture down paths
no one else does
kicking sacred stones
that no one
but those
who sought to put pain
inside
have riled up,
leaving dust to settle on the matter.
like any slum lord,
I know where my dust settles.
best to be left unkept
than to see
the mess i've made.
when you must protect
self?
when you need
to be
good
strong
whole--
it becomes hard
to accept
your wrongs
weakness
brokeness--
hard
to change
because
it it is hard
to see.
"the light came into the darkness, but the darkness did not comprehend it,"
yes, forgiveness
is hard
to comprehend.
but you
seek the good in me
even though
it seems
you seek out the worst
bring out
the worst
challenge me.
really, you just venture down paths
no one else does
kicking sacred stones
that no one
but those
who sought to put pain
inside
have riled up,
leaving dust to settle on the matter.
like any slum lord,
I know where my dust settles.
best to be left unkept
than to see
the mess i've made.
Monday, May 21, 2012
unbrushed teeth
hands tied
by apathy
behind my back.
lethargic shreds of things
never done,
meant to do,
did
lay waste-
stain against name,
against faith.
what can one do
who cannot
push herself
out of bed?
by apathy
behind my back.
lethargic shreds of things
never done,
meant to do,
did
lay waste-
stain against name,
against faith.
what can one do
who cannot
push herself
out of bed?
Monday, April 30, 2012
Drifter
I am the drifter
the lone (wo)man
the flake on which
Whoville stands.
I am the drifter,
one kicked up like dust
that when settled on glass
protects vision's trust.
I am the drifter
the renegade bag
who tears from backseats
finding bushes that snag.
I am the drifter,
the one who knows
many
and few
and this person
who is my own.
I am the drifter
looking over the moor
swaying with lantern
as I rest these oars.
I am the drifter
the dried and the wet--
the leaves and grass clipping,
the petal that went.
I know no one location--
no one home for eye--
a steady comfort of constant supply,
seeking families far and near to enter in
to laugh, be filled, depart, and return
to enter in.
the one who holds, but lets grasp slip
who some call by name
and even fewer miss.
the one who catches glance before running past
whom with moments you share
that may or may not last.
I am the drifter
who seeks to be seen
and also to hide--
hold and deny
O, the drifter,
am I?
Wednesday, April 18, 2012
Now I Might Observe Silent Assurance
it makes me wretch inside
to see "dear" addressed to you
to hear her say,
in type,
"your love is to heavy,"
no wrong have you done.
you need someone to love.
you
chose me.
and i ran- pushed
you away.
"your love is to heavy,"
no-- not from me.
I was too scared
of being left
of being unhappy
till my fears fell through
cut to truth--
became reality.
no longer do i pretend i can Know you-
you do not know yourself,
or,
do you?
can anyone know a person
when we are
constant
change?
to see "dear" addressed to you
to hear her say,
in type,
"your love is to heavy,"
no wrong have you done.
you need someone to love.
you
chose me.
and i ran- pushed
you away.
"your love is to heavy,"
no-- not from me.
I was too scared
of being left
of being unhappy
till my fears fell through
cut to truth--
became reality.
no longer do i pretend i can Know you-
you do not know yourself,
or,
do you?
can anyone know a person
when we are
constant
change?
Saturday, March 31, 2012
bound
passing fables down the table
like potatoes and green beans--
no one takes the last spoon full,
all eye last roll
and cross contamination comes when spoons are shared.
i feel so small when not allowed speech-- when not allowed answer--
when rutted in roots that mangle tangles of brainstem
and stream
from eyes to lies left from one perspective to another.
how are we real and why deal
with what we dealt when we can call one more
to bust--
to break, to bend, to push our luck till stuck
with empty pockets of worth.
smile blankly, love like blankets-- you are my soul
and know little
of my mind.
like potatoes and green beans--
no one takes the last spoon full,
all eye last roll
and cross contamination comes when spoons are shared.
i feel so small when not allowed speech-- when not allowed answer--
when rutted in roots that mangle tangles of brainstem
and stream
from eyes to lies left from one perspective to another.
how are we real and why deal
with what we dealt when we can call one more
to bust--
to break, to bend, to push our luck till stuck
with empty pockets of worth.
smile blankly, love like blankets-- you are my soul
and know little
of my mind.
Monday, March 19, 2012
thee hated of me
which is greater-- to love despite dislike
despite despise disgust mis-trust
dirty dinner dust
swept beneath carpet of our skin
dirtying our with-in
to find a rag some where
to wipe clean the lens
that allows light in;
to change perception and put down pride
or
to find one's self and surround
with those abounding in what you have found to be astounding,
grounding and giving, worth living for
and
for them?
at what measure does one stay because you're needed,
nay, presence wanted,
wanton wanting of weariness and waking starts
at what measure
does one take the toll of reprimand of self, of demand to not be what one is;
to become different, to suppress, or more so surprise oneself with what one can disguise?
but where does one find core, and betray anything below mantle boiling,
only instead to make low the mountains and fill the valleys,
smoothing edges the bump as stone tossed by sea and sand
to become a meeting place
for God-- for goddness
possibly
of humanity?
God is good, the pastor said,
all the time, we reply,
all the time he responds,
God is Good, we move on.
here stands I
and you, and mother's daughter and sons of sisters too,
here we stand at the the point of compromise,
the place where we know not what to do.
how far removed
must we become
to become life abandoned
for life abounding.
there was man
impressed by me--
silver tongue and wit had I said he.
but spirit warned of wander ways,
i stay away and come to thee.
thee
who finds no degree of honor with me.
no feature beyond skin of which to be praised.
only once said, fallen in love with kindness,
but thus was lost when uncovered my blindness.
but love so strong of one you hate.
have I hated the one who loves me,
or loved the one who hates me?
at what point are these features opposite,
for do we not choose, and thus control,
while having no choice, and no control?
oh, stole,
stolen dear,
steal away with me
from my mind and misconceptions,
deceptions
untold
till we find ourselves as humans
forgetting all known unknown.
let us fie, fie on thee!
oh, lie, lie
you lie next to me.
but how brittle till one tongue breaks?
how brittle
till one earthen heart quakes?
and wakes instead
all nightmares hidden from
foaming forth in mass array
these truths our words cannot say
that swallow both our voice and measure
our intent, self, and one another.
still, heart grows hardened till broken open
and i allow
cracked light to enter
caring not offenses done
caring only for arms and sun.
came that they may have life!
Life! more abundantly
I have life when i forgive thee.
do you have life?
do you ever forgive
me
for being
me?
despite despise disgust mis-trust
dirty dinner dust
swept beneath carpet of our skin
dirtying our with-in
to find a rag some where
to wipe clean the lens
that allows light in;
to change perception and put down pride
or
to find one's self and surround
with those abounding in what you have found to be astounding,
grounding and giving, worth living for
and
for them?
at what measure does one stay because you're needed,
nay, presence wanted,
wanton wanting of weariness and waking starts
at what measure
does one take the toll of reprimand of self, of demand to not be what one is;
to become different, to suppress, or more so surprise oneself with what one can disguise?
but where does one find core, and betray anything below mantle boiling,
only instead to make low the mountains and fill the valleys,
smoothing edges the bump as stone tossed by sea and sand
to become a meeting place
for God-- for goddness
possibly
of humanity?
God is good, the pastor said,
all the time, we reply,
all the time he responds,
God is Good, we move on.
here stands I
and you, and mother's daughter and sons of sisters too,
here we stand at the the point of compromise,
the place where we know not what to do.
how far removed
must we become
to become life abandoned
for life abounding.
there was man
impressed by me--
silver tongue and wit had I said he.
but spirit warned of wander ways,
i stay away and come to thee.
thee
who finds no degree of honor with me.
no feature beyond skin of which to be praised.
only once said, fallen in love with kindness,
but thus was lost when uncovered my blindness.
but love so strong of one you hate.
have I hated the one who loves me,
or loved the one who hates me?
at what point are these features opposite,
for do we not choose, and thus control,
while having no choice, and no control?
oh, stole,
stolen dear,
steal away with me
from my mind and misconceptions,
deceptions
untold
till we find ourselves as humans
forgetting all known unknown.
let us fie, fie on thee!
oh, lie, lie
you lie next to me.
but how brittle till one tongue breaks?
how brittle
till one earthen heart quakes?
and wakes instead
all nightmares hidden from
foaming forth in mass array
these truths our words cannot say
that swallow both our voice and measure
our intent, self, and one another.
still, heart grows hardened till broken open
and i allow
cracked light to enter
caring not offenses done
caring only for arms and sun.
came that they may have life!
Life! more abundantly
I have life when i forgive thee.
do you have life?
do you ever forgive
me
for being
me?
it's nice to be praised for ability
to be know
and seen
as something worth seeing.
but what grows us then?
when challenged not?
what forms our hearts?
if not told where to start?
you i hate who does not adore
but you i love who loves not what i fight for
may compassion and forgiveness seep;
may my mind at some point sleep
and sleep next to thee who chose me
foolishly
but loves my office,
my position
in loo of what
I am.
Thursday, March 15, 2012
jeans
i changed again
to jeans
so they can hug me
when you won't.
i changed again
to fit
my need to hide;
to not stand out.
i changed again
to justify
my faded feeling,
washed with withdrawal
from you.
but i spoke
words
too loud
deafening your delicate ears,
your delicate mask
your false
identity.
but i've always lived
my life
out loud--
twirling in skirts
you loved
twirling with thoughts
you abhorred.
i use lower case i's
to fit my thighs
inside jeans
of humility,
no,
of hiding myself
LOUD.
to jeans
so they can hug me
when you won't.
i changed again
to fit
my need to hide;
to not stand out.
i changed again
to justify
my faded feeling,
washed with withdrawal
from you.
but i spoke
words
too loud
deafening your delicate ears,
your delicate mask
your false
identity.
but i've always lived
my life
out loud--
twirling in skirts
you loved
twirling with thoughts
you abhorred.
i use lower case i's
to fit my thighs
inside jeans
of humility,
no,
of hiding myself
LOUD.
Alice, I am.
trapped
and i want out the kennel
my master
put me in.
whimpering, whining-- letting distress be known
only goads my master,
shooting sharp eyes and shouts of, "stop crying!"
glass pane door between--
cold, transparent-- I can see, but he remains out of reach
when he does not wish to sit with me.
but other times he begs, "up up!"
"Kisses!"
and gives hugs, love, play;
provides my needs even when hinders or hurts him, but--
often time
tiny hurts
throw me out
until
he decides
he needs me and wants me
back
next to him.
I comply.
and i want out the kennel
my master
put me in.
whimpering, whining-- letting distress be known
only goads my master,
shooting sharp eyes and shouts of, "stop crying!"
glass pane door between--
cold, transparent-- I can see, but he remains out of reach
when he does not wish to sit with me.
but other times he begs, "up up!"
"Kisses!"
and gives hugs, love, play;
provides my needs even when hinders or hurts him, but--
often time
tiny hurts
throw me out
until
he decides
he needs me and wants me
back
next to him.
I comply.
Monday, March 12, 2012
softly selfish
i pretend
just in this moment suspended
that everything is fine.
curpusculars, warm winds,
and Ivory
of piano keys
make me believe
that every child's tum
is a full,
and round
as mine.
that the sirens of hospitals across the way
have ceased
not just for now
for how long this moment lasts
and delusion
is that it will last forever,
for forever is moment-- it exsits only in our mind,
as does this beauty,
a capturing of rays spilled from a slowly dimming star
as does these words echoing out chapped lips,
only gargled noise,
reverberations whisper to you who are far,
"I love you," as though you are near
as i believe
in my figment
in my mind
in my heart.
I will take a selfish moment
to believe that all is well.
that parents do not scream,
for sound is too soft here, in this moment
that men do not die hungry,
for it is to robust here.
but pretending fades as notes flicker out,
snuffed as delicate smoke
and moments
fade gray.
still,
clouds gleam and babes breathe.
still,
silence washes ovr'this place,
my bosom;
my heart;
my soul, if that is the phrase we wish to use.
I must keep selfish moments like these with me for times
when there is no time
for selfish moments,
no time
for hearts to be free.
i shall put it in my pocket,
as the little diddy goes,
and save it for a gloomy day.
oh, LORD,
be with me,
always.
just in this moment suspended
that everything is fine.
curpusculars, warm winds,
and Ivory
of piano keys
make me believe
that every child's tum
is a full,
and round
as mine.
that the sirens of hospitals across the way
have ceased
not just for now
for how long this moment lasts
and delusion
is that it will last forever,
for forever is moment-- it exsits only in our mind,
as does this beauty,
a capturing of rays spilled from a slowly dimming star
as does these words echoing out chapped lips,
only gargled noise,
reverberations whisper to you who are far,
"I love you," as though you are near
as i believe
in my figment
in my mind
in my heart.
I will take a selfish moment
to believe that all is well.
that parents do not scream,
for sound is too soft here, in this moment
that men do not die hungry,
for it is to robust here.
but pretending fades as notes flicker out,
snuffed as delicate smoke
and moments
fade gray.
still,
clouds gleam and babes breathe.
still,
silence washes ovr'this place,
my bosom;
my heart;
my soul, if that is the phrase we wish to use.
I must keep selfish moments like these with me for times
when there is no time
for selfish moments,
no time
for hearts to be free.
i shall put it in my pocket,
as the little diddy goes,
and save it for a gloomy day.
oh, LORD,
be with me,
always.
Wednesday, March 7, 2012
Does God Believe
in himself?
would we
exile and detest God if he told us
"I am not a Christian
a Baptist
a Mennonite
a Methodist
baptized,
saved,
I do not pray
do not go to church on sundays.
Nor am I a Sufi,
or of Abraham's decent
no,
none of that am I."
Would we become angry,
let Down by holy one
if he told us,
"I get mad.
I wish death upon others.
become frustrated with you,
laugh with lesbians,
cry with prostitutes,
I with hold imformation
from others' ears--
I party for years
and like to collect tears."
would we exile God if he said,
"I cannot trust you,
for you fail
again and again."
would we spit in his direction if he told us,
"You are not one of great importance
or great matters;
you do not obey
and hurt
those around you."
would we call him fool and wicked if he shouted or even whispered,
" I do not agree
with what you believe
and the actions
you justify
for your selfishness that seethes."
Would we refuse to call him God if he remarked,
"But,
I love you
anyway
for in you,
oh human,
oh man
I have invested
so much.
even though you
Hurt Me
Ignore Me
and hurt Your Self
even though
You Project
You Blame
and Make Up
what you do not know
I Still Love You -- I
still want to be with you,
however small a portion I am in your life,
I want to be all of it--I want you to trust me,
for I know how to keep some pain away;
I want to trust you, but find I cannot-- but I love you anyways."
What would we say to a God who works in quite action
& Fiathfulness
to men who seek him
what would we say to a God Like That
instead of one who calls us
Privileged
oh, human
oh, Israel.
perhaps we do not recognize
the Image of God
in ourselves
anymore.
Who is God's?
in himself?
would we
exile and detest God if he told us
"I am not a Christian
a Baptist
a Mennonite
a Methodist
baptized,
saved,
I do not pray
do not go to church on sundays.
Nor am I a Sufi,
or of Abraham's decent
no,
none of that am I."
Would we become angry,
let Down by holy one
if he told us,
"I get mad.
I wish death upon others.
become frustrated with you,
laugh with lesbians,
cry with prostitutes,
I with hold imformation
from others' ears--
I party for years
and like to collect tears."
would we exile God if he said,
"I cannot trust you,
for you fail
again and again."
would we spit in his direction if he told us,
"You are not one of great importance
or great matters;
you do not obey
and hurt
those around you."
would we call him fool and wicked if he shouted or even whispered,
" I do not agree
with what you believe
and the actions
you justify
for your selfishness that seethes."
Would we refuse to call him God if he remarked,
"But,
I love you
anyway
for in you,
oh human,
oh man
I have invested
so much.
even though you
Hurt Me
Ignore Me
and hurt Your Self
even though
You Project
You Blame
and Make Up
what you do not know
I Still Love You -- I
still want to be with you,
however small a portion I am in your life,
I want to be all of it--I want you to trust me,
for I know how to keep some pain away;
I want to trust you, but find I cannot-- but I love you anyways."
What would we say to a God who works in quite action
& Fiathfulness
to men who seek him
what would we say to a God Like That
instead of one who calls us
Privileged
oh, human
oh, Israel.
perhaps we do not recognize
the Image of God
in ourselves
anymore.
Who is God's?
mitosis- the division of self
Divide,
Divide
step to the side.
but exact copy
is made;
ripping of self, division.
to think
inside
millions of you
are ripping apart
yourself
to think
just now,
millions more
of your own flaws
are rplicated
reciprocated
and kept
can one run from self
if one divides self?
peeling apart,
a copying of sorts
no long what was, but now, how does one decide
which daughter was first
and which to leave behind?
mitosis is...
mitosis is...
the division of cells?
my crisis is
the division of self.
Divide
step to the side.
but exact copy
is made;
ripping of self, division.
to think
inside
millions of you
are ripping apart
yourself
to think
just now,
millions more
of your own flaws
are rplicated
reciprocated
and kept
can one run from self
if one divides self?
peeling apart,
a copying of sorts
no long what was, but now, how does one decide
which daughter was first
and which to leave behind?
mitosis is...
mitosis is...
the division of cells?
my crisis is
the division of self.
give-ness {of self}
what i thought to be spite,
rancor glossed over features,
face varnished in my sweater
was really
pinicle forgiveness;
absorbing my offense with marrow;
owning pain his own to bone and bade-ing sadness,
bade-ing truth fill and come in truth of hurt,
in truth of brokness
and broken love.
in moment of spite,
no, everything not all right
not quite
ready to give respite of fight
till in sight is his own
heart
own self
peeled back as skin from muscle,
nerves vulnerable to slightest touch
till tough varnish covers all and speaks to me,
"I Don't Like it When you hurt me.
rancor glossed over features,
face varnished in my sweater
was really
pinicle forgiveness;
absorbing my offense with marrow;
owning pain his own to bone and bade-ing sadness,
bade-ing truth fill and come in truth of hurt,
in truth of brokness
and broken love.
in moment of spite,
no, everything not all right
not quite
ready to give respite of fight
till in sight is his own
heart
own self
peeled back as skin from muscle,
nerves vulnerable to slightest touch
till tough varnish covers all and speaks to me,
"I Don't Like it When you hurt me.
Tuesday, March 6, 2012
does god see
the restraint
as we do?
who are we protecting
when we cry
for ourselves?
pretending
that we fear
the loss
of holy.
what trust is there
In God
When worry wastes
away our wishes?
you've heard it said
care not what you wear
what you eat or drink
for the pagans
run after these things.
But I tell you,
run not
after yourself
at all.
Instead
you've heard it said,
If you have two coats, give one away
So,
I also say
If you have one heart
do not cling
so that it sticks to itself in a cellophane mess,
but give way.
Love
is not
Honor.
there is no limit.
let limits dissolve and sweeten on your tongue as you speak not in malice
nor in self respite
but in hope and acceptance
of self
of other
of situation
and sit a nation of conciseness
between your legs as you rise up.
god does not see resumes.
the restraint
as we do?
who are we protecting
when we cry
for ourselves?
pretending
that we fear
the loss
of holy.
what trust is there
In God
When worry wastes
away our wishes?
you've heard it said
care not what you wear
what you eat or drink
for the pagans
run after these things.
But I tell you,
run not
after yourself
at all.
Instead
you've heard it said,
If you have two coats, give one away
So,
I also say
If you have one heart
do not cling
so that it sticks to itself in a cellophane mess,
but give way.
Love
is not
Honor.
there is no limit.
let limits dissolve and sweeten on your tongue as you speak not in malice
nor in self respite
but in hope and acceptance
of self
of other
of situation
and sit a nation of conciseness
between your legs as you rise up.
god does not see resumes.
Tuesday, February 21, 2012
Winnow
knitted love
provides no protection
as flustered ice drops
cover my path.
wind withholds
only to dissolve
only then to winnow--
winnow my steps;
winnow my breath.
and i am scattered
among the drops
till soaking knees and soaking socks
also drop
and the wind won't run;
no, it stands against
to winnow my steps
and winnow my thoughts.
turn to see
how many steps till i return
but the wind covered my path;
it's covered my past.
white as snow,
oh, no.
dark as night.
choose the clique,
for neither quite right.
but Winnowed I Am.
the deepest part.
Winnowed I Stand.
how does one start
again ?
provides no protection
as flustered ice drops
cover my path.
wind withholds
only to dissolve
only then to winnow--
winnow my steps;
winnow my breath.
and i am scattered
among the drops
till soaking knees and soaking socks
also drop
and the wind won't run;
no, it stands against
to winnow my steps
and winnow my thoughts.
turn to see
how many steps till i return
but the wind covered my path;
it's covered my past.
white as snow,
oh, no.
dark as night.
choose the clique,
for neither quite right.
but Winnowed I Am.
the deepest part.
Winnowed I Stand.
how does one start
again ?
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