Taking Stock...The Things That Matter Most

I think I need a short break again...time to decompress. It's summer, so family, work, house refurbishing, writing, reblogging to two sites, and a health scare of my own are all adding up. Plus it's a little disheartening that so many friends on here are not on much, or at all, anymore. Has anyone heard from Mike? I hate not seeing him on here...

I'll be back. Won't be long. I love this place and you people too much to be gone for long. I may even decide not to take a break at all...who knows??? But until then, love you all...mean it!

charred embers…smudged forever trapped…in a cage

we sit in the shade of the Old Town wall the stone...warm against our backs holding the heat of early afternoon of July we use the word "maybe" a lot keeping our voices low because speaking too loud might break whatever is starting between us

we haven’t known each other long enough for big promises...dramatic words instead walking the cobblestone alleys stepping over sleeping γάτες our fingers brushing then letting go it feels like love but are we smart enough to wait and see

down at the harbor the air smells of salt and diesel we watch a ferry pull out into the Aegean leaving a trail of white foam that slowly turns back to Aegean Blue you ask me simple questions what I was like as a kid? how I take my coffee? building something out of small...simple answers

she remembered when her dad wasn’t mad …only on occasion now when he would let her poke his belly and laugh “heheheeeee”  like the dough boy used to do before  ….before he was mad

these days there wasn’t much light in Jenny’s eyes though there was plenty of late night, all night cries crouching behind the other side of the bed hiding from the sliver of light creeping in through the cracked door’s crack it was slightly off kilter a filter diffusing the old him from the new

and she was older now and she wasn’t happy anymore and she fell asleep on her floor more  or less every night

she always walked with her head hung everywhere everyday

she hoped and dreamed like the other girls for love  for him

she just wanted to be happy for now for ever

the mason jar sits precariously on the old oak stump where the fence line runs out into the sumac

the wilderness has grown up sinewed and crooked around it but the glass keeps its own cold memories

every deer trail through the bottomland seems to bend...twist the whole ridge moves

bare heavy indifferent the first frost lingers

there is a stillness that comes before wood splits a kind of hurt that doesn't leave a scar on the skin shhhhhh

when the sun drops behind the ridge it leaves nothing only the look of an empty room when the lamp is blown out

Death waited patiently by the rusted iron fence arriving without the courtesy of an invitation Emily abandoned her messy desk ...her ink to board the onyx carriage of this intoxicating stranger

she looked into his endless dark and spoke "i have waited so long for you Death" she whispered please take me far from this exhausting world he smiled faintly then claimed her fragile hand

his fingers felt like flowing mountain water a king requiring no crown Emily adored the gentle command of his posture guiding the black whisps of the steeds with absolute stillness

"we have all eternity...My Love" she murmured happily as they journeyed past the raucous schoolyard they traveled beyond the sprawling summer wheat that tilted heavy heads in their wake

Emily's sheer dress offered very little protection against the sudden sting of the damp fog "are you freezing?" Death asked with eyes like winter "i am warm with you" Emily answered softly

they halted at a strange...uneven hillock the stone roof barely visible above the soil her now permanent estate dug deep within the dirt far below the cruel reach of human sorrow

ages have vanished since that singular ride yet Emily feels it more brief than a single breath she remains devoted to the profound quiet and the utmost tenderness of her silent groom

with eternity sitting beside them as witness they drift gracefully toward the expanding void where Death cradles Emily's spirit against his chest the beautiful writer

you bleed poetry onto pulp the color of the ink depending upon the day or maybe the time his memory slices and it’s so hard to let go

a heart wrapped around a light post pronounced dead on arrival this time you finally let go this time you won he couldn’t flat-line you

sometimes love hurts more than it helps sometimes it kills you in it’s process

i have seen the fog turn to a greasy film on glass and the men in shirt-sleeves have all gone inside leaving the windows only to watch the rain meet the cobblestones

it would not have been worth it...after all to split the day open like a ripe peach then to find the black stone at its center

i am undone by the way she turns half smile half wildfire

and still