One Syllable

2016-09-21 One Syllable

My bid to hide from the piece of my mind,
The one that looks like a call to life,
A wail of a child,
A slap in the face,
A lack of small hands.
I place the bet, hope to close the door
But it is hard.
The path leads to cries, coos, sleep,
point in time.
All of these make me ache.
Vast and no end to loss of a child.
I took a walk through dew and grass
as two, with my son.
A walk of light and still air.
Tread at my side, my love.
I can see through your brown eyes
to the next stage.
No rush, no fear.
I had to choke back a sob
and rub the thin ring on my thumb.
A heart, my heart.


The Leaf


I saw them.

On a clear, crisp day in early October.  They came to my base.  They sat, close. She cried, gazing into the distance.  His arm was steady around her shoulders.  They were silent, except for her sobs. They brushed a thin layer of dust above the roots. They seemed unwilling to leave, but finally walked away, heavily.
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Running Wild


my tongue trips awkwardly
spilling over fresh waters
absent and present,
feeling confined
limbs twisted, aching
head pounds mercilessly
breaking loose, hanging
wit matches temperament
offending the unsuspecting,
wrenching fingers peeling
away from the heart’s container
reviving the softened earth,