i am a sad song


but at least i

am singing.


i have fallen for my

own despair;


but i hate the refrain,

i despise the ending.


i miss the joy bursts of chorus:

were they ever really there?


…. sailing away like cursive

into the sky….


i go to another place

but the mirror brings me back;


the looking glass

in reverse.


do these words mean

anything to you?


i am alone.


reflected behind me, an

empty room;


within me, a deep

loneliness and a tiny




i have nothing to give;

i have every thing to


give but no one who

wants it.


i am forgetting how to love.



alone with you


your arms around me, like a

tree; a thousand words unsaid,

passed tight between.

all the right words,

all the non-sounds i’m

climbing to hear.

with enough time,

any thing could


with you, all

things feel


an elemental joy-

ful-sad-ness holds,

tremors on the edge of

need in clear

view of


i drive away, drive you

away, drive away from

my true self.


stretch the spirit-head high

i wake each morning

to a sun-filled kitchen,

familiar cup of coffee;


i feel new.


but by night-fall i am

in mourning for

the old.


i know, this too shall pass;

which is its own


kind of sadness.


i slowly ease in and dig my

shell into this fresh sand:


letting the tiny grains

patiently move me along —


millions of time-wise

crystalline hands.


i keep one eye on the tide,

stretch the spirit-head high


to the deep-wide horizon.


on the day that didn’t snow


i had a dream in the early hours

of looking out a window and

seeing pale frost-flecks falling; of

dancing with blurs of my father

and putting my mother to bed.

upon waking, i traveled through

centuries of stories — of weeping

and laughing and wishing; sad-strong

thinking pushed me up a mountain

where i sought an open sky

i didn’t know i was seeking:

a long stretch of billowing light —

fading blues; fleeting pinks and

golds beyond capturing; sight-

less wonder holding its breath.

i kept walking toward what i could

not touch — toward the infinite

arm touching me. i kept longing

to climb-crawl right into the sky.


dark and deeply (or, hope doesn’t always float)

sometimes the weight of every

sad thing you have ever


known washes over you in

waves and converges in a


water color hush for depths of

days; how can the under current


of joy sustain? it is the dark and deeply

beautiful loch ness looming in a


hopeful still ness that cannot

be touched or verifiably seen.