My Beloved

For such a wordy man

I'm at a loss

to describe my love for you -

you who both terrifies and entrances me.

I can describe moments...

I see the profile of your face

and you don't know I'm looking.

You are smiling -

looking at something you enjoy

and I am overcome.

Your happiness warms me,

reminds me,

fills me

with a love

that is so powerful 

it is almost a sadness.

These moments glisten

like precious gems

in my reflections, 

and the you I know so well

is revealed once again.

It is easy to forget

amidst the rabble

of oh so important happenings,

and yet

it is the only thing worth remembering.

Illusory Muse

You pierced my forehead
with a crystalline thread
and drizzled
your golden honey down,
glistening and sparkling
in the light
of a spectrum unknown.

Weaving with mine
and spiraling quickly into
a complex warp and weave -
that long lost
something,
that thing we know
we share,
but cannot
talk about.

Coughed an eyelash
in my eye,
turned once more
towards the sky. 

I was the muse
all along.

Wild Wolves We

Wild wolves we,
who travel three dogs deep,
the timber towering overhead,
the snow crunching under feet.

You're on point again
nose deep in a cool wind current
that will carry our prey.
Comet and I nip at each other's heals,
taking turns as the third one in line.
Your undercoat colors bleed through
the sunshine bleached fur…
darker than obsidian,
richer than Orion.

This season pushes us forward,
provides us time to grow roots,
from which we will harvest our fruit.
But for now
we must relish these cooler days,
this lack of light.
"This cover is really camouflage"
you say without opening your mouth…
the Moon speaks for you!

And then,
we're off,
canine legs pounding
through the crust of white,
three mouths salivating at the sound
of crackling underbrush,
and the warmth of the kill 
close at hand.

You reach it first,
fangs and fury up its spine,
forcing it to the ground.
We aren't far behind,
but we let you take your time.

When it's all said and done,
and we are fed and fond,
we sleep three deep
atop the white canvas,
our symbols still steaming,
drawn in long crimson arches
over the snowy terrain. 

The Fallen

Can burnt bridges be rebuilt,

some might say it's so.

This time is lost 

and found again

and what of these years have passed -

we are not now 

what we were back then

even if we still might dream,

that those times before 

could come again

and bring us haunted things.

To haunt, to have, to die again,

to leave it all behind.

What of these strange

and broken strings

that bind and hold us fast?

What good could come

what bad befall

behind these bleeding eyes,

that closed for me 

a doorway to

before this now was then.

It isn't, it was, it should've been,

but it wasn't

so now it won't.

But "IT COULD" I scream!

It can I dream

be brought up from the ground,

this sooty bedrock,

these blackened beams

compacted over time,

washed hard with tears

and strong with years

reformed, refinished, refined.