In the early evening calm

She breathes in deep

and exhales his dreams.

In the early evening calm

he falls back asleep.

And just as she wakes

in the mid-morning sun,

he brings to her coffee

just after his run.

a new days morn

Golden white light

of a new days morn

pours through glass

another day reborn

In the ashes of night

there lies but a thorn

plucked from the side

no flesh had been torn

White sheets toss n tangle

cold toes on the floor

unfathomable visions

eyes closed I see more

Her inflow of breath

his outflow explores

the depths of her hair

do please stay the course

There’s reason in knowing

what comes from the source

in the golden white light

of a new days morn.

the shores of freedom’s water

Let breath become the ocean

each inhalation I do see

the shores of freedom’s water

are washing over me,

and with each exhalation

the ocean starts to breathe

I open my eyes gently

to gaze upon the sea.

The Futile Attempt to Explain a Temporary State of Being.

Somewhere between

breathing in and breathing out

comes this wave

of melancholy,

like salt to a snail

the only defense

is to crumple

back into a shell,

drained is all sense

is all sympathy

buried beneath

the weight,

sinking

deeper, deeper

into

this chair,

like a prisoner

wrongfully accused

without the funds

to buy a voice,

but time

is a cruel saint

without regard

for its hands,

that never miss a beat

or waver indefinitely

like this melancholia

that rests a while,

waiting for

another breath

to break up

the sea again.