Unwelcome

If it makes it past my heart

I’ll kill it with my hands

There’s an echo in the mountains

When the body lands

Nightmares

My nightmares

are my own;

unfelt and unseen

yet the tremors

are heard in the morn,

dull echoes

hidden in sharp alarms,

falling to sleep

waking to rise

life to day

death to night,

ending its story

as we all do

in our fatal haste to new

Wrecked

Sometimes,

I remember that

the radio continues to play

as a car wrecks,

and I think that’s

how we often live –

ravaged by pain,

aware of our destruction,

and, yet,

humming along.

Staying

She pulls me

gently

down a well-worn path,

littered with ferns and old letters,

and brings me to

a flowery clearing.

“This is always where they leave,”

she says,

indicating the barren field.

“Yes,” I say,

“this is it.”

“This is what?”

“This is a perfect place

to build a home.”

Halloween

Breathing heavy,

I wait for light to leave the sky –

longing for your nighttime spell

a brutal, tortured tongue-tie.

You haunt me with your drawling voice

dark and yet unseen,

you disturb my foolish, failing heart

and call it Halloween.

Pain

We reject pain,

but how

that rejection

— that indominatable spirt

to thrive against loss,

creates the most

beauty!

Danger

We’re warned

about the dangers

of the world —

the heat of fire,

the power of water,

the shifting weight of the wind —

but the world

has never,

never,

wounded me

like the dangers

in my heart.