Morsels of moments

We can't go back, pick up, pieces

Anymore

Than we can jump ahead 

To when we

Were nowhere

Together.

It was just right

After I left

A landing, a ledge

Caught me 

You fell past me

In a dream

Blood-stained hands

Grasping.

There was a river.

The sound conjures the divide

How it carries those times

And places

Elsewhere.

You got carried away

I took another way

Anyone's guess

To the sea, 

ultimately

Never again

One 

and the same.

Painting by David Cox -' On the Conway River, North Wales' - Google Art Project, date unknown in Public Domain via Wikimedia Commons. .

a Peace of Christmas morning

Christmas morning,
nearing six,
the moon just retired.
Curled on the corner of the couch,
under the copper lamp light,
books piled on the left arm,
Smokey is nestled on my right,
between outstretched toes,
pads touching mine,
his heavy head propped on my
soul, with a deep sigh,
i am alone
writing
in front of the Christmas tree,
whose moments are numbered-
alee, the chimes try to carol outside
a pine candle cheerfully flickers,
heavy breaths are carried down the hall...
and I remember
how many books I've read this year
and the fathoms I've learned
beyond measure.
I am
more aware-
of myself.
I am getting somewhere-
besides the moral of the story
or simply The End.
I have found peace
and puzzled in pleasure
over moments
with words as pieces,
like these,
gathering beloved dearly
to day.





Image By Lars Jacob for Ristesson [CC BY-SA 3.0 (http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0)], via Wikimedia Commons.