Lay Down

Lay down beside me and be yourself in these sheets.

Let the fabric forever guide your gentle feathers

and free you from all the lost ideas you have of yourself,

let them go like branches in the night,

floating atop that river where we learn to let go

and feel freedom for the first time–

just a small, sweet taste.

Lay down here and rest a while.

Among this forest of willow trees that hang like hair

and dance with the passing winds.

With the songs of birds

and the soft feeling of soul on soil.

Lay down and dream awhile.

Rest in a place

as beautiful as the heart

I feel when I look in your eyes.

Lay down and dream my love.




All in a small cardboard box

sit pictures of the past,

moments etched out the side of a mountain

now buried at the bottom of a river.

Rubble without a name.


Taking my time, I stare at all of the eyes,

some of them are still alive,

even now,

shinning like rubies scattered amongst the sands.

They all share one thing though,

the same witness.


Buried between these books

and these photographs are constant contradictions.

Life is full of them,

and these shelves are without exception.

One still stings in my ears,

as I see the fire eyes, alive inside me

and rest this box back to it place–

loners make the best leaders.



In my time of death,

as the winter of this world

grips these windows

with its chill,

as it touches

the edges of my finger tips,


softly sing to me.


In solemn tone

speak to the soul inside

and share with it

your beauty.

In the time of my dying,

bring to me you.

Show me who you are.

With only a voice to hear,

let me see you clearly

and quietly let go

as I listen to life.


Who was I when I was me and you were gone?

When I left you there, and you stayed in time–

frozen between these endless mirrors

and the breaking waves.

Letting this water wash away your face,

and the sands of this shore

soak into the pores of your spirit.

Who was I then when you were me?

I left you behind and couldn’t see.

I buried you, but thought it wise

to think of you as the passing skies.

Who was I when I was so young,

to think I could out grow what wasn’t done?

And I find you here, where I left you then.

Facing the mirror to see you again.




My memories are threaded with the
peddles of flowers from forests.
Yellows and pinks, whites and reds,
running down ravines to the crescent of creeks.
Moss and maple trees
and simple fishing rods.
This whole forest was filled with forts
and safe havens,
the coming and goings of which held no time–
like rocks resisting the flow of a river’s path.
My memories are woven with these moments
connected to nature and it’s all its beauty.
I still marvel at it all
and I am blessed to have a had a boy
that ran free in search of his heart,
holding wet moss
in the palm of his hand.Woods

Of Course

Among the air of the ocean
big, salty waves crash in course.
The sand dances with the wind
and the sun is setting softly
upon your golden dream.
Like a blanket, like a piece of paper,
your world folds into and through
itself, offering night
were shining reflections of light
once played.
I can still see it tricking my sight
even after daylight has dimmed.
And as these walloping waves
continue to crash
I walk home with whispers in the night.

This Tree

Look up.
A symbol to the sun.
This tree stands here
amongst the mountains and this sapphire sky.
It bleeds with a purpose,
a direction indivisible.
And as everything else exists,
it stands as a man
and, too, dies from flames of fire–
disappearing into a freedom
that beats beyond
the center of our hearts.
This tree stands,
shaped from the soils of its roots
and reaching for its dreams.
A vertical virtue evoking the spirit of life.
And for the sake of growth and goodness,
this tree stands for me
to see.
A sign of things to come.


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