A Man Came Out To Pick The Field Of Daisies The Flowers So Densely Woven Entwined In Each Other That

I saw a small bone on the sidewalk The size of my pinkie finger I sat with it, wondering of the skeleton A truck drove by and honked loudly The bone rolled slightly on the pavement As the truck sped heavily forwards

Little bone from a little one I pictured you as a mouse, a chipmunk Maybe you were a vole or a bird I longed to touch your bone and know you But I was afraid of the reality That you lay there gentle and beautiful When the act upon your body was likely not

I was assigned fire at birth Or so the star mappers say And I can identify with that With the colors, the heat Fire is a passion, yes, I am that

Water I've always envisioned As quiet, calm, serene But I met water as a flash flood There were never any warnings

I swam without being doused How is that possible? But it's something I've never Known since, water is wet after all

I can relate to earth, to air In fact, these elements speak to me More than fire or water have So I've belonged to both of them

Fire and water though How steamy we were together You'd think we would have clashed But we were purple, complementary

Time is the only element I've been seen with these days Water, at the end of it all My body consists mostly of you Which is really quite an apt metaphor

I am a wave The one you felt On the shore I crashed over you And became water Once more

You are the sand The earth That I long for When I am Out in the ocean With no oar

We are the gulls Look how far They soar Floating on the wind The whole sky To explore

We aren't so different You and I

Birds nestled under Ocean sky

Though

You are an osprey Taking flight from sand

And I’m a kiwi Watching you from land

What is the usefulness Of regret? When the days and months Move ever forward And moments passed Are like photos, Some were not taken As well as others

There is a Transcendence in The letting go The long farewell to Yesterday's bowed head Presently washed clean, Hung out to dry In the ever persistent Cleansing of sun

Why wish for any decision To have gone another way? Would the lines On palms, in diaries Have brought us here If we made a choice With our head Not our heart Or simply on impulse?

The red-winged blackbird Clings to the cattail It perches on, Calling out in that Short, piercing chirp

They sway in the Gentle breeze together Like one entity

I wonder how the cattail Feels, if it likes Having talons Wrapped around its stem, To be joined in such a way.

It's just hair Sometimes I am Covered in it Sometimes it Isn't there It doesn't matter Much to me Whether I am Blanked or bare I thought That it defined me Or that one way Made you want me I don't know Why I cared But you shaved Above my lip What I thought You wanted there So I still think It's why you left me That it was just Because of hair

A drop of vanilla escapes The glass vial; It lingers, it lingers, It lingers on the table Before it breaks.

It seeps slowly, then Suddenly into the grooves, Spreading vanilla into The pores of the wood.

Vanilla infuses with The table, into a tiny Stain, into a small Splotch of warmth And subtle hospitality.

I am not a fly on your wall I am an angel with wings I watch you sleeping in your bed Together Then cover you in my feathers

I am not a ghost in your house I am a creature in the sky That can never fly away from you But devour I taste you in the darkest hour

The wings came bleeding out my back Carving open hardened scars The air returning to my lungs I am awake In slumber I am yours to take

The little spider Under my table Strung up a pebble To anchor its web And I am as curious As I am impressed By this mysterious Feat of engineering