An Ember In My Hand Is A Small And Safe Delight It Burns Of Course Palm Scarred For Life Leave Your Imprint

Frost came and bit the earth, Snowflakes fell like feathers. Crystals landed cold upon me, Some were just the weather.

Icicles dripped upon my heart And froze it for forever, I think it beats in winter squalls, Although it's just the weather.

The skies I fly are crimson red tonight Sailors below me prepare for tomorrow And as I reach the clouds I wonder what colors you are seeing.

I spend hours soaring through the airwaves Hoping to spot you somewhere But your wings have gotten heavy lately And you are drifting lower these days.

So I search beneath the white wisps To find you standing on the ground On the rocks where I first saw you In the twilight hours of an April day.

You look out into the ocean The waves are crashing after a storm You tell me that the sea is endless And you wish your faith could be that way too.

Upon the shoulders I kiss lightly You carry the weight of past concerns Still you confide in me Worries of your angel wings falling.

You cry out why would I love you If your feathers hit the ground If your eyes were to stop glowing And you could not fly with me again?

I pluck a white feather from my own wings Blowing it out to sea I assure you You do not have to be an angel To be able to touch the red in the sky.

I take out two more of my feathers Tucking them neatly behind your ears The ends weave their way into your head My love with you wherever you go.

Sometimes I ruin what I'm trying to say by Making use of Too many Words

Why does our perception Of gender Change the tone In which we read someone's work?

My woman is stoic My man is soft spoken Anywhere I fall on the spectrum is loud Or terribly quiet

I am sitting at the window The sun is out but it's chilly It's a lazy golden afternoon The neighbor's chickens Have escaped their coop again They're wandering down the street Stopping at bird feeders And pecking at the ground

It occurs to me after minutes Of simply observing the Peculiar way they move their heads That I have no thoughts in my own That I am completely mesmerized By mindlessly fleeing fowl It is a good day for watching And doing nothing else at all

I, who speaks often But says much of nothing I, who pictures the words That do not come out That stumble over My tongue and teeth My brain a stuttering Then silent and empty

I will my words into being In a moment's pause In the quiet of the writing When my mind races And I can catch my thoughts I send you my voice You, who reads me You, who's eyes Pass over my letters

I, who does not screech Like the hawk in the sky Nestle my meanings in The wanderings of creatures In the sun and the trees They, who speak The same language as me Who might interpret while I am just talking to you

I shut you out Because you saw the parts of me That were broken And ugly And I thought you would leave

So instead I loved people Who shut their eyes And stayed Always hoping I would change Something permanent in me

Your absence is loud As if the air were screaming To me that you're gone

The snow fell on the earth Drew its blanket over the ground It brought with it the cold bite And I felt it all around

Winter sang its song of sleep As it darkened the skies But who sings for those animals Who never reopen their eyes?

Frost colored my hands Despite the fire in my heart I mourned in my blues and blacks Watching the life depart

Touch may not be necessary for me That warm, skin to skin connection Has never felt as vital as an emotional one

Until I find myself clawing at a stranger Until I am turning my head to the side Avoiding kisses, because that's too intimate And my body wasn't asking for intimacy

In all honesty, I don't even like being touched I avoid situations that involve closeness No need to hug anyone just for the hell of it

Until I wrap my arms around a lover Who's name I've mixed up with the last one's I never picture the ones I really crave Who's touches I am actually yearning for

Certainly I can live my life without touch I don't need it like I do good food or drink It does not sustain my soul like poetry does

Until I remember all the ways I've burned The way you struck your fingers like matches On my hands, on my lips, the entirety of me Inside our fire I have wanted and wanted

But that's really all distant memory now I think I'll slide touch up high on my bookshelf Somewhere between fantasy and memoir