Depth

I walk beside myself

Not another parallel path

but obtusely, a shadow of a self.

I should have become

colored, defined, dimensional

instead of this plane person.

It all worked out for the best

I lived to see some 

karmic occurrences.

It was all just that-

for a time.

Evolution favors the fittest-

for now. 

We are still in the Goldilocks zone.

I thrive, though I know

the Precipice and the Fall

one step away.

I chose the 

Right foot

and move forward

knowing it is my best. 

I should be-

come satisfied

if nothing else. 

Artwork credit: Brush and black ink and gray wash, with graphite, on cream-wove paper 'Statue of the Madonna in the Mountains' c. 1804 by Caspar David Friedrich, Public domain, via Wikimedia Commons in Public Domain. 

Tres (trace)

Water

Today, warm raindrops

glass blurs, the blurry glassy,

sharp sparkles sugar.

Behind

Evening, it was good.

Leaves all turned into shadows

sky palette blending.

You

Broken glass, a cup

a puzzling of pieces

holds onto nothing.

Painting by Claude Monet, 'Pond at Montgeron' c. 1877 via Wikimedia Commons in Public Domain. 

And then...

 

Change is like that strong smell

of cut grass or chopped wood

that stops you still.

Patterns, a symbol can be

an illegible sign, 

at first glance.

Or a certain light at sunset, 

or dark that whispers

Where am I coming from?

You are always going

Somewhere.

Next to nothing seems impossible.

I am next.

Painting by Orazio Gentileschi, 'Portrait of a Young Woman as a Sibyl' (c. 1620-1626) from Google Art Project via Wikimedia Commons in Public Domain. 

Imagination

I have been mad at myself for random

Things.

I guess that happens when left to your own

Devices.

I have forgiven myself 

for all the things I can't 

remember.

I guess 

this can happen

too

often

I have held onto petty grudges and

I have let go of heavy resentments.

Occasionally, I have strong opinions

but always pick my battles

All of which

I have won.

You've come a long way

some have said.

Starting over 

means you've come 

empty-handed and grateful

for what was not taken.

And what is more

all that you are free

to take-for a time-

Interesting and cursed. 

I don't know

what I do not have,

nor can I imagine

what is better

or worse-

Living 

for giving or 

for getting...All

random things

Not worth

getting mad at myself for

or remembering.

ever again. 

Painting by Thomas Dewing, 'Lady with a Rose''c. 1915-1924 via Wikimedia Commons in ublic Domain. 

3rd Act

People teach you

about people.

Loneliness and Solitude

See-Saw.

Generations 

leave more than can be

taken.

Practice

gratitude & letting go

of things and people 

you were grateful for 

Once. 

Everything happens...

Burning bridges,

opening doors-

There must be more

than one way

In or out.

One way to look at it

is just that.

People need people

like signposts

for orientation.

Yet never to be 

in the same place

at the same time.

Missing and

Lost 

can be both 

alone and together.

When you find yourself...

Painting by George Hitchcock, 'Calypso' c. 1906 Google Art Project via Wikimedia Commons in Public Domain. 

Making time

 

Maybe it's how,

I gotta go in 10 minutes,

feels so different from-

I have 10 more minutes of sleep-

Or all lights are green

and other days every single one

makes you wait

reminding

Patience is virtuous

Following the divorce,

of course,

treading harder than ever

just to stay afloat-

On that same note

trying harder to keep 

inspired

instead of always feeling 

tired.

Grinding the mill stone

down to the metal

ore-

just

Stop and sink-

Or was it drop and think...

Into a poem

pocketing loose pieces 

while waiting

for the light to change.

Painting by Esperando La Pesca 'Waiting for the Catch' via Wikimedia Commons in Public Domain. 

Palette or Palate

Grace is always within you

it is said...Hmmm...

I think grace is pink

which is why its hard to find

when all you see is red.

Love is not all crimson cupcakes

still, there is gratitude, 

warm and orange. 

Citrus can be sweet or sour,

it depends on more than taste.

Every word

a jagged cube of ice

to crush or to melt,

linger into nothing...

Yet nourishing

by experience,

like white or wisdom-

or the sun.

What do I know

of divinity-

But hell

and evil, is black 

Absence or All...

Diluting color

of meaning, when

Time is demanded.

Faith is ordered.

I taste metal,

or my own

blood

while

sensing my fragile

green mortality

All over.

Painting by Vincenzo Irolli (1860-1949), in Public domain, 'Young boy eating a watermelon' via Wikimedia Commons.