evidence

she loved coming home
to her oversized bed,
she loved coming home
to wrap herself in his arms.
she flopped down this time,
face first into the pillows.
she took a deep breath,
she had been away too long
this time, she needed
a night at home,
in surroundings she understood.
she breathed deeply again,
had to, as she was so deep
into the pillows that
perched atop their bed.
a third strong breath,
and this time no mistaking.
that smell was not her own.
she stayed deep in those pillows
and cried herself to sleep.

I lay in my bed
In silence
Enjoying
The silence
She walks in
No more silence

If the road less takn
Was taken by everyone
it would be the road always taken
therefore the road less taken
should not be thought of as
a sad lonely thing
but as something that is special
pure
less taken

All day i had thought about:
sweet buttermilk
tangy honey mustard
smoked sliced turkey
crisp lettuce and
mayo.
I opened my fridge and saw
my lettuce was frozen.
death to the lettuce

in boots

the sun came out
strong,
reflecting brilliantly
on the snow,
blinding from every direction.
it would not melt
the snow,
not strong enough for that,
but i was warmed
as i held your hand
and we crunched about
in boots.

an ever tightening spiral

i saw a hawk appear
overhead,
lower than i expected
hawks to fly reconnaissance;
and i paused-
as i walked through this field
not wishing to be a part
of his decision to
leave this place.
i did not look up for him,
but instead followed his
shadow around the filed
with my eyes.
he flew in a pattern,
an ever tightening
spiral,
and it was hard to make out
his actual location
with the sun
hidden from my view
by the trees.
nothing in this field moved,
but that shadow,
simply floating in
and ever tightening
spiral.

i am a bitter night

the ocean closes in on me tonight
wave by wave.
i hear them crash
upon the beach.
the shoreline stretches
around me,
land seems so distant
now.
this patch of sand
gets progressively wetter,
this onyx night
gets progressively cooler
as the wind picks up
across the waves.
they rush toward me,
the winds,
as everything else seems to do as well.
there is no life left here.
the waves make the only sound i hear.
the moist air that assaults
my being
is the only proof of life.
i am going to stand
my ground
here on this beach
tonight.
i am going to persuade the moon
to release its grip
on these waters.
i am going to sit upon this sand,
damp, alone, unprotected.
shivering, aching, longing.
i am going to sit on this sand
until the water backs away
and solid earth takes me up
in a warm embrace.
i will sit here 'til sunrise.

love poem?

i sit down to write a love poem
and can think only of one thing;
that time we spent running down the mountain
that took all day to climb.
on the way up i struggled
and you pushed me on
despite my best efforts to sit
and watch you disappear
over the crest without me.
you kept me going,
and when we got to the top
i understood,
because it was beautiful
having you there with me
to look down on the world.
we pointed to where we though our houses should be
and im sure we were nowhere close.
and we sat for a while
in the breeze
as it threatened
to blow us back to soild ground below.
and after a rest,
and a chance to squeeze you
atop a mountain,
we ran all the way back down,
arms out and screaming like fools,
passing those on their way up,
who looked like i must have at that point,
struggling and resigned
to failure.
and downward we plunged,
merrily, earthward,
unable to see so much
of the world,
and of oursleves.

darkness

the candle glows behind me,
lighting me up in a shadow against the wall.
it is the only light in this room,
and i use it to make myself feel larger,
by moving toward the flame,
seeing the darkness take over more of the room.
that darkness is me,
the light only visible outside my edges.
i stare at the wall
opposite the candle.
my shadow twitches with the flicker of the flame.
i remain steady,
and bring darkness
to this room.

lost.

she slipped out of bed
and felt the cold on her ankles
and toes
as she made her way
across the room.
she saw little
in the dark of the room;
shadows against a background of black.
she moved quickly,
sure of her steps,
a way she had come before.
she padded softly through the door,
down the hall,
and into another silent room.
she stopped.
all shadows
on this side
of the house.
waiting.
eyes adjusting.
breathing.
she can hear her own breathing
and little else.
leaves move outside the window though
every time the wind passes
through them.
waiting.
she lifts her feet
lightly
as her knees grow tired
from standing so long
in one spot.
she can see a bit now,
her eyes adjusted to the dark.
and she knows.
this bed is empty,
and will be for so much longer.
she cannot see them,
but the walls are painted blue,
and she can feel them closing in
in the darkness.