Out of nothing

There's a thick sweet fog - so heavy I could, I could see it suffocating the humidity into itself. Creating a rise and fall of dew-
as every creature in it sweats and sighs - and I, I accelerate inside that weight.
Every space of air as if - heavy hot grasps that reach everything.
This is what I've been craving.
This wearing of the atmosphere - where the season is what you try to make. Try and screw (it up) - and lose and learn - and laugh and stretch - and know someone again. If it's just for a summer -
if it's just a dance you can't forget, and stories on the rocky, and calling as the wind calls dinnertime.

I've been out the long day looking for myself.

Now the old house looks like a haunting - true farmhouse - so dense in the fog that it's falling away. (Don't I relate). Bugs starting as it gets dark, and the sounds...
What could be out there in the woods and marsh beyond?
What could the frogs say of bullish ways and dewish fawns.
As the neighborhood kids come in from their day of play I wonder all of that - as tattt-tat snaps
the doors far off and the siren of goodnight, goodbye, I like you still.
The lights on inside, and seem so cool (from this heat) - I'll walk up through the yard, be seen in and out as of nothing, through steam meeting night - and I'll playfully give 'em a fright when I arrive.
Smiling at the thought.
And thinking then - which love is next?
:)




_ _ _

Before greatness

On late hours, when spring is fighting to grow - outside, in me, in everything - I miss the people I knew, the people I’ve been — and it fills up that terrifying suffocating -of regretting- every wrong word ever said. When every word I’ve EVER said, seems like the wrong one now. I don’t know where I lost myself in it all, but I did, and now it’s done... Now the years have come and gone and — it’s one year later from the same exact old passages -- unknowingly, walking in the same doors, and the same dreams… Making the same charts and praying for change. Hating the nightmares that should be soothing memories. 

Change me back into who we were — all passion for life and dreams — all hope in leaps, and adventures came easy — and love was just a funny thing between our thoughts in nights. Between our bodies. Change back upon the tides, the crystals - the ah, hell whatever will work - so that we can all feel free again. The wildness and that peaceful trust.
That easing into new faces like it’s just a conversation. And falling like we, could cut the bare sky and swing upon it. 

Where has the wave of youth that was just here gone — where lies the second Renaissance? Cause all my lies, and all I’ve lied upon — now seems a big ‘ole mess. Where tapestries of studied words, crash into lamen’s woes - and on it goes a-spiralling while my stomach churns in turns. 

But then, there’s still the glimmer — there’s the remembering the lag before each fall. The vaulted ways, the chained and dragging feet — it all feels like thick molasses. And you ache to race, and you push to run - and still it goes so slow. But there’s a glimmering thought - a thing between night and day - where all seems bright and you look to what you know, you feel the "thing with feathers"- for an instant. The weary dreams form a wall or two before- you blink. You breathe, and flicker upon yourself again.
So it could start again; change your name - tell all the stories right this time - come home at night, and sit beside - your love and every inch of home. Homeward on and still it might just be — all ahead and nearly over. Please do say it’s so...

“the best is yet to be.” 

.