HOLDING PATTERN

As the sky
Contains its clouds,
And the ocean holds
Its breathing swell,
Gently,
We appear,
As mysterious strangers,
Different it seems,
In each other's dreams,
My home
Is your horizon,
My secrets,
Painted in your style,
Yet these are but
The sounds of silence,
The dance of stillness,
Shared,
For a while.

CUPID

Thus it seems

That shattered dreams,

Will feel like broken hearts,

When they're but the ways

And ricochets,

Of Cupid,

And his darts.

AUTUMN

The dusky melancholy returns,
The brisk, smokey air,
Crisp to the sound,
Of falling leaves,
As we enclose ourselves,
Once more,
Within the comfort of hearth
And home,
Our harvest of dreams,
Their vapour
No longer met by playful sun,
Condense back into the heart,
Hiding again until,
Maybe,
Next year.

INDEED

Many shades of silence
Enrich us in our dreams,
Enclosed within an echoing
Of colour never seen,
A liquid flesh and naked will
Fulfill the need, it seems,
To laugh and cry,
Dance or fly,
As liberty supreme.

THE DREAMER

We import
The world of open eyes
Into our dreams,
And lend the dreamer
A definition
He does not own.

THE GARDEN

Walking the garden of my mind,

Every moment,

Might I find

As a kite to fly,

Each wakeful one -

On currents, rising,

Kissed by the sun,

Gifts of warm possibility,

Pulling up playfully

Higher than high,

Tugging and lifted

Beyond to the sky,

Where today's but a whisper

Down in the trees,

Of wishes unfolding

Blown on by a breeze,

Where dreams can begin,

And reason descends

From along the sharp ridge

Where the garden ends.