Patterns

When we met, I’d asked you where you’d been
over swaths of time, both toiling and spent
cratering distance, charting a path, away
from points where we may have intersected
I’d marveled at the grace and ease, your words,
the presence in the shaken space
where your eyes glimmered the darkness
Yet drawn back and muted,
my eyes crusted over crucial intervals
An opaque journey, unclean and unclear,
fed and spawned, bountiful and unrequited
I could only hope
to take you there with me
It’s Time
It’s time to start something
It’s time to start something akin to unraveling
It’s time to begin to being
It’s time to knock off the rust
When time graces and when time sprawls…
It’s time to start mending menacing moments
It’s time for breath and healing
It’s time for the great unwinding
It’s time for the great unwinding from the sky
Breathless in an ocean’s infinity
It’s time for waxing and waning
It’s time for waves upon you both warm and jarring
It’s time for resting upon the tops of heaps
of motioning rumbling unrest beneath you
It’s time to realize that the morning creeps into your room
and shakes you with an anxious sigh
It’s time to pass between a stage,
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