At the end of all things
is that moment
before the letting go begins,
the tiny space
between experience and memory
when the soul is recaptured
by the tale of its own eternity --
unbound
unceasing --
until time settles in again
against my chest
(the rising sparks wink out)
transforming thought
into fond and wistful smiles.

The world is tinged uncertain
with the setting of the sun...
The last remains of hopeful rays
are trapped between the earth and low-flung sky;
and so, unable to escape
they come and settle in my soul,
which, too, is trapped
between my dusty flesh and the promise of the heavens.

The sky is made of harmonies.
The hills are made of gold.
My heart is made of footprints
on the pathway heading home.

The clouds bubble up from the horizon
like happiness taking to the sky.

this day never came
not in the way one can hold on to

the gray blurs my edges
until my certainty is lost too

slipping out of solid

time dissolves
nothing changes
nothing stays the same

yet unresolved has never been more peaceful
watching
drifting
waiting

It's that slow surrender
of day to night

the kind you can't believe exists
until you witness it.

The clouds drew near
to lie against the very flesh of the earth
in an intimate embrace.