great harbour

chebucto

the sounds of quiet
thought reach
out to a sun that
sinks down into
a sea cool clear
voiceless my mind
heads north carried to
the forest the trees
the silence unbroken
words traveling on wind
rustling leaves
spreading life and
deep breaths new
beginnings rising
and melting away the
ice and snow breaking
free from the soil
up to my hands warmed
by my own blood seen
as i lift them
to the sun

american folk tale

john henry versus the steam hammer

a string stretched between
a sky and an
ocean that expand infinitely
over our heads underneath
our feet blood flowing
in between life heat
and movement constant the
rhythmic song of passing
time breathing and staying
awake without reason listening
to a voice empty
words that fill every
empty space inside closer
to the sun and
sleep and i will
look out over this
sea into time and
i will find a
light that once burned
my eyes wind and
rain my skin opened
washing away the sounds
of words traveling across
skies and oceans above
below between until my
hands fail and i
give in to sleep

it may be broken down

patterns

zero zero one two seven seven
the past is the past
and the stars believe
my bones are white
and i am open whispers
over skies closing distance
under oceans staring up into
the white light of suns and
sleeplessness holding every
breath until its pure and
blue opportunity fulfilled
and realized traveling to
futures unimagined hidden
between my skin and the
soil where my name is buried

the circle makes much of modern civilization possible

a circle a circle

i was born built
to see things in
natural light and
air over water
or growing from
dirt soil earth
take them from
their homes and
lay them to rest
where they belong
take me from my
home and lay me
to rest where i
belong in this sky
in this water in
this dirt soil earth
under natural light

it's only words

a stack of wood

white clouds fall
white rain
over and upward
to heaven and
space infinite and
endless expanse
expanding forever till
i hold my breath
till i let it go
and lungs fill empty
with voices and the
smell of grass and flowers
my hair grows longer
and i hide my face
a little more each
day until i am new
and i am old
each day by this river
and these trees
is another breath taken
in the life of a world
far from forgotten
and far from its
final days
i wash my hands and face
and say nothing until
there is nothing left to say