And one more makes four.

The Daughter's voice
calls in the night.
Through the stillness
it lingers.

trouble.

So I know that I should be sleeping

and that the morning is sure and soon to come

and I know that there is no reason

however here I sit

thinking of the energy/connection/connectivity between people

whether I like it or not

and I think of a man purely from the standpoint of what I see reflected back at me

or what I feel when he is looking -or thinking -of me.

Am I right? I don't care.

It doesn't matter.

So, in this situation, I get up and text. He is nearby and I know it will be wrong by morning

yet I am compelled.

And so I set in motion a rolling that gets us within connection distance of each other.

Connection distance.

And, there I was

floating

in the pond

in a boat

high and mighty

and gazing at the stars

food for the living night

in whatever shape or form it came in

and what I saw is unexplainable

and unable to be recreated

and mine

somewhere in the deepest recesses of my brain

whether or not I came home with damp feet

and breathless

grinning.

Gardens of Dreams.

Don't know what I am here for
living like wasted space
many avenues
of people slinging the blues
masks to shed
trading spaces, trading beds

If following the heart
is the way to go
who pays for the ads?

The head
leading in another direction
marches in line, in tune
sublime

yet, the soul
the something other
knocking
clocking
follows its own path

brambles
streams
rainbows
dreams
there are no dishes, no laundry, no meetings, no outfits
just feeling
and doing
and
the grin is wide.

Little Dress Black

There is a dress with my name on it
a something
a little something
that has a neckline
causing

a dream
of flashing silver
of a smile and a spark
and a shy gaze towards a magical moment

and fade to black.

Hays Field

the mornings

which could have been early or late

dew on the grasses at the bottom

just drying up on top

running fingers over the tips 

feet following the path

up Hays field

looking for the milkweed

blossoms still tucked into their tidy and perfect felt pockets

the flight path of the monarch leading my way

eyes closed

I can smell the earth

smell the sounds of the day

and I am one with this all

my universe

finding my place

not knowing I needed to be found.

Only later,

later,

having to call what I had been given a name

thinking on the experience

of being wild in the wild

connections to trees and grass and sun and rain

it was a life

and it was mine.