[Art] is a strong word

Sordid letter, heart conspired

Treetop blessings, habitually unaware of drowning rains

Swallowing bubbles

burning feelings of failure

and love

barely visible between charred branches;

Twelve steps,

Sunlight beacon

Test the heat with

the tip of one finger.

Or three.

The sound of energy;

an empty chest

sincere apology

a wavering attempt.

Dark pieces

A heart

Mirror-image

Frost-covered vines

Damp tunnels, tangling

together

All these things are

you can tell that something wilted here.

Some fragile, happy thing,

now unidentifiable.

Drape it in a white sheet.

Lament it with black cloaks.

You couldn't have known it, but

you'll still feel it missing,

like a tooth pulled after throbbing.

A sad relief.

I ponder this, well into the night,

Call me Polaris

Call me striking, burning from the inside out

Call me leader,

I'll let you follow me to safety,

though I'll keep the distance between us

cold

and breathless.

I'm not good at relating to things that haven't already passed their time,

but I can still relate

to a bigger picture -

Both the big, and the little dippers,

and the archer, larger than life.

Larger even than me.

Call me Polaris,

because I am small,

but I am steady

and you can easily find me,

Is it still Spring if nothing new grows?

You hold pain between your teeth like a test you're dying to take, watching and waiting.

In time, you grow new nerves that don't know how to sleep, but

at least there's something more to you now.

Winter days are hard for everyone,

but they seem particularly cruel to you.

Ashen, They drag the bones from beneath your skin,

look how the pieces jut out, like limbs on trees, begging not to be noticed.

You heard often as a child,

"warm hands, warm heart", but

it's summer time and you've never felt so cold.

You wonder if this is how it feels- dying young, like a changing of seasons.

You've started the exam, but nobody has the answers.

You bring the latest gossip from the natural world,

keeping me on my toes.

I stay out of your way,

and you go back to business.

I hope you'll find the gifts I leave you in the garden.

You're beautiful, no question,

but I'll keep my distance,

and let you get back to your friends.

Excuse me,

I don't have the time.

I can hear the clock ticking like

the grating noise of my back teeth grinding together,

but I've spent a long time not changing my batteries;

Steeping tea,

an action made for people

that have time--

A product of patience,and gentle

reflection, radiating warmth.

I am a coffee drinker;

I need more fuel

for my already shaking hands.

The bitterness might straighten

out my tongue,

untwist it from knots

by the time I leave morning traffic.

When I slow down to breathe

I'll regret not choosing something

softer for my stomach,

something to comfort the hard blow

of today.

I speak clearly, the

like stars against a dark- soaked sky.

Their beauty holds me hostage,

makes me forget,

that these, too, are long-dead things,

searing and too far from my grasp.

I chase thoughts

beyond my reach, white rabbit

I'm underdressed with

only the vaguest sense

Blue swirls, nauseousness

a continuum of vastness in my head

not thrown under by the changing of light

Pressure - Bittersweet

Pulled beneath, an oilslick