There was a fog this morning,
it feathered over a grass, so sparkling.
The hills, they were asleep,
unmoving.
I was on the 7.06 express,
watching… just watching the
blur of motionless moonlit scenes spearing
past me.
But I am a whisp,
smoke rising from buried ground.
Those ghosts surround me,
they smile and wrap their arms around me.

I want to fade into the clouds,
To twirl the whirring wind
and softly fly.

My soul gives me wings, but
my heart strangles me down,
holds me hollow, misused.

So in the spring I’ll plants these roots,
And pretend to bloom sweet succulent fruits;
provide you with temporary smiles.
Then,
In a winter so cold and harsh,
Frost’s flowers frozen beneath the field,
freed from all fear of love’s warmth,
I fly.
Why?
Because I can.
Because I must.

Spirits slip me through to their world,
Kiss me without poisons…
And there I sleep ‘til time goes round,
The ground above me bellows.
It has come again, another new hope.
Rolling eyes, here we go.
Growing, growing,
through dirt and ashes,
I sprout this summer’s first song,
with only a sore throat to sing it.