There is never a perfect time for arrivals nor departures; we hold our breaths for as long as we can, knowing that it is inevitable

We lose track, lose touch, can't find our way back to one another, stumble towards purpose, meander for a meaning, hands growing numb


All at once, you mom and you Marmalade are everywhere
in the butterflies and dragonflies that passed through the garden this morning
happily whirled about by wind, the sun's dazzling confetti


After one too many seasons
of sweeping away the fallen hibiscus syriacus
I tired of death


For days, weeks, months, years,
My mind heart soul blood bone will forever be in that backyard searching
for my wild love


With distance comes a
mysterious hope; we are made of nothing
but hope, hope, hope
transcending
time, best interests, and reason


We gather at least seven times to pay our respects, say goodbye
For both the dead and the living, loss takes longer to sink in


Here is exhaustion: the ties that make it worth your while are the ties that bind


Protecting one's heart requires a daily letting go and letting in


If we make the right choice nine out of ten times,
hold us accountable for when we make the wrong choice
even one out of ten times


With repetition, we will lose our way, it is inevitable.
The closer you think you are to arriving
The clearer the distance in between


the language of time is mysterious
for one full minute, we can become riveted
by every bird twitch, a turning of the page


As long as we hold people who are not like us at bay, we will be less
Less storyful, less agile, less colorful, less human


Don't forget for a single minute that we are all linked


More often than not, just around the corner is something you want, but still out of reach; maybe play it safe, maybe take a risk


In the beginning, the middle, and the end,
We will bump into the contours of life
Be tempted to break free, tumble into light

in the end
we fall like dominoes
as a result of standing too close


across the distance of countless shores
feelings get clogged up
polluted by proximate priorities
we wait to be pulled closer


across the years
we will change the way we measure, keep, and lose
track of time
it's inevitable
a matter of right place
different time


we are in separate worlds,
looking down, looking
inwards, looking away,
always away,
for a reason to be

I can no longer recognize
my own reflection on the water, in the glass
night and day, it searches for the person I used to be


new friends come and go
but old friends come back
again and again


memories become overgrown
with and without intention
the greens become greener
weeds weedier
waiting to be tamed


sometimes you have to get comfortable
with getting stuck
in order to become unstuck.
it's a tried and true formula
letting go


there is a ripple in every memory
it reverberates out,
touches other memories,
sensing them to be lighthouses