If I could flavor you I would call you ocean,
salted softly, in borrowed beauty
relfecting what I want to be.

If I could name you, you would be summer

cottonwood floods in cool straw laces.

If I could hold you, it would be like fireworks,
unrully,
beautious,
dangerful.

I must teach myself to let you go,

so up in the air you might explode

into all that you were meant to be

star flakes risen without me.

I could bottle ships
build up paper sails
climb aboard and float away forever
without you.

I could surf a feather tree
let the waves steal my breath
but only if you'll let me.

What if
If only
Only when
When are we
We will be
Be breathing

I could murder sleep,
become what I am not
listen until my ears run dry
and scream in ringing tones

I could give my heart,
with every breath left inside
to you.
But only if you'll take it.

I am winds,

whispered in hushed tones over flickers of bright blue

You are water,

cooling streams of ebb

molding from me impossible mirrors.

Look
see,
and weep

we are not what we seem,

we belong  to earth and moons

we arrange ourselves, pen in hand,
to cause and heal troubled wounds.

Her

She waltzes on a tight rope

a tiny wire doll

She walks with winter,

sings of snow

and prays the birds will fall.

She counts the stars

three

two

one

as she swallows earthly light,

she spends ages running

sweet soliloquies in the night.

She listens to her inner Lady

spilling lies of perfect flight

and she sheds the layers day by day,

counting bones to make things right.