Forest

Our dog died. We got rabbits. I spread their shit over the dog's grave And flowers grow.

  Rain Today, someone in the sky Is spinning the clouds into thin white threads That are falling from the sky. I reach out and try to twist The silky strings around my finger. My hand gets wet.

My Trusty Bag I picked it to stand out Yellow But I forgot about mud... My fingers trace The zipper Remembering that broken pull tab I skip lightly over it Running over teeth, my fingers land And pull And slide in My fingers know The outline of every pen The creases and lines The sound the blue one makes When you click it The feel of the red one's cap As you roll it across the table The chairs may change Rolling Cushioned Hard But my fingers leave the desktop And reach (I do not need to look) And find the chapstick Short and smooth and round I wiggle off the cap The feel on my lips Familiar. My fingers search for every buckle When I walk They slip into the loops And pull at the straps Anxious Always Mostly. With practiced motion I swing and hold And the bag lands in my arms with a twist My water bottle comes out, My ring finger supports the cap And my thumb presses. The water cooler bubbles. Some fill quickly The one in G building is slow. I sip, the cold in my mouth Sweet. I ...

Note: This poem was written before Frozen (to be exact, I dated it 4/23/13) Letting Go I am a hollow glass body      filled with a rushing current         of love, sunshine, and sea Someone hammers     my diamond barrier stands tall     my precious treasures stay safe. Someone taps     the translucent film shatters     and falls to the floor with the sound of breaking glass. My love     My sunshine         My sea             My insides The world's love     The light from the sun         The big, deep sea             The outside They mingle and swirl and coalesce and I am     I am         I am Broken     and yet whole for the first t...

Night Biking I zoom quietly over wet streets, echoes of laughter and smiles fading. Hissing water sprays out behind the bike wheels accompaniment for the unseen symphony of crickets in the night. Cold numbs my fingers and I can only think it will be over soon and my fingers will burn with warmth. I do enjoy the crisp cold that seeps through my thin sweater, sweetens my mouth, and pleasures my nose with the tang of freshness. There is a sharp stab of pain as I wrap my fingers around the cool metal brakes and press. I release and fly faster and faster. It is so quiet and I feel I am the only one here. The only one... that ever felt the last breath of fall as I do now.