the submerged resurfaces in ice and steam. we will always return to water. weaving through stone, we carve our paths back to our ancestoral homes. in these terrains of contrast, the mind collapses. the mouth it searches for speech. our futures still shrouded, we plunge deeper, never knowing where we will resurface and when.

99 beautiful moments: a study

And I will go where the wind blows, even if its just round on circles. I will whistle like the pines when it blows through me. I will quiver when it whips round my limbs. I will foam and crest like the waves when it rides within me, licking the place where the earth meets the sea.

99 beautiful moments: a study

From distant voygages we return to our moorings, the apocolypse dance of the lighthouse behind us. Salt encrusted and sun drenched, our bodies sinewed by sea shores so distant we forgot the language for home. And for the last time we drop anchor. And it rests on the bones of our ancestors. And we remember the celestial beauty lost on functionality. Our hearts no longer seek guidence from the heavens. We are lost no more.

99 beautiful moments: a study

on descent

every wave that crashes must eventually return to the water.

when all is exhaled in that eventual pounding, the truth is formless and enters the abyss.
each foaming crest, each concaved roll, must eventually lick it's descent.

and it is this gesture that erases our footprints, making sand from stone

99 beautiful moments: a study

as the road forks

we emerge unscathed, if a little ruffled
the year drones into long hot days

gratitude shows up at just the right moment,
late at night, drinking whiskey alone.

now all that I have has been divided
some years discarded, some given away

in the echoing undulations of time
each triumph opens onto a vista

cultivating grace in rocky terrains
I am humbled by my gentler kin

on distance

my heart crumbles;
half baked sweetness
coated with roughage
a poor mans pie

post script

For V

the mirror exists only to show us
what we look like

we are not our reflections.
I struggled with yours for so long;

turned it over in my palm
till my nervous twitch

smoothed
that which was sharpened

shined
that which was dulled

this is the only way I know
with stones