Oh Ive tried this before
Always finding screen doors
All the gardens and the creeks
Were for me
All the heights from grandfather tree
In the woods a hidden bay
I saw it
All the love you ever gave
I felt it
In the ground a friend there lays
We buried you on sunday
All the sun and sister shine
Pockets full of mud and time
I’m waiting In the garden
Grandfather tree and young river
Don’t grow young old soul
This young is flooded with shame
Your young is built with understanding
Houses speak vibrantly
With care and potential they speak
Joy is processed now
They won’t understand your language anymore
We are a dying breed
I’m not the best but I do love to draw.
Their soft spoken language that I couldn’t comprehend crawled into the room of my youth on the second floor with its slanted sky and the sliding glass with no balcony.
The aroma hiding in their ceramic mugs informs me where the sun is.
I greeted them before I chased it.
I chased the sun with the beings in the pond.
I chased the sun with the tire swing that the grandfather tree wore.
I chased the sun with magic rocks.
I chased the sun with sticks and stings for fishing.
I chased the sun with the old horse.
I chased the sun with my twin.
I chased the sun, knowing it will never chase me back.
I chased the sun.
You came home drenched in pine and I could smell the river on you
You swam with Ancient rocks and souls of your youth
A stream so immense, your heart beats with its rhythm
For the fear and love
Your heart beats with its rhythm
A grief drowning silver light paints the flesh on each bone
Storyteller tips paint that silver light in, replacing the chains tied to your expression
And pulling the anchor out from your heart
But that same silver light feeds the sea inside my being
And I wait for your storytellers to calm me
I wait for your sail
I wait for a different wind
I wait for your breath under the silver light
The Sea and wind fell in love when the earth felt new. A young child of spring changed the season of routine and the summer grew with everlasting blood and dew. The sea held me close and the wind combed my hair. I have his nose but her eyes with its glare. But we, the three musketeers with a family full of love, were pulled away from each other by the steering rock above. My father, now the sea, is still in my lungs and my mother, the now stationed wind, his way she longs
Her hair, damp from a broken river carried by dust, trapped the smoke from her lungs. She left it painted in her presence. Right then, just there,we were empty fools thirsty for a hidden light. Yes, we were fools.