Sometimes
it is the cold
that brings things
into focus
and allows
sweet peace
to slip in and swirl
through senses
as deep breaths
flow
wet and soothing
like a balm
upon the soul
Clouds drop down to kiss tree tops and thread between trunks caressing the ground in wet dewy touches swallowing giant mountians rivers and lakes in an existence of white confusion and silence that will only last a little while
Chilled stone
numbing resting cheeks
as wet sand
soaks denim knees
while misty mornings
filled with fog
turn desolation
into mystery
and crisp air
stings cheeks
as a train whistle blows
in the distance
Shattered windows
and crumbling walls
when wind blows
shingles fall
yet still she stands
old and strong
creaking timbers
join winter’s song
in summer time
she will fall
tumbling down
’til flattened all
When your
head dips
and whiskers graze
it’s the bark
of the tree
my hand rests on
as I catch my breath
and your touch
upon first kiss
is the feather light
brush of moss
upon which I make
my bed