I see you

Standing outside

Myself

lately, recognizing

point of view

can only be one at a time

I'm in shock, some suggest, surreal, soberly,

listening too much watching

another image 

Of I-not noticing

She is seen. 

Startling

fear of beginnings

bearing endings 

there can be no time

to reflect. 

Painting by Grigory Soroka, 'Reflection in the mirror'c. 1850 in Public domain, via Wikimedia Commons.

What Floats

 

Above all

else in the daylight

my favorite sight

or Phenomenon

occurs in the Sky;

Fallstreak holes, lenticular halos atop

tall peaks

and the mighty Mammatus.

I seldom seek

the Why's

As cycles spin

I think I may see them again,

when the Sun's slanted spears

Disrupt

It all-appears 

Darker, more real,

an occurrence

of grounding

without sounding too

Heavy.

Image credited by Alpsdake, in Public Domain (CC0),'Mount Fuji from Mount Ogochi' taken 10/22, 2000 via Wikimedia Commons.

Happily

After all

that Time,

Eighteen years

Ends

Alone 

I can do

what I want

what 

Do I want-when

happiest

Ever-after 

all...

Isn't that

how fairy tales 

End?

Painting by Hermann Koch c. before 1939) in Public domain, via Wikimedia Commons.

Sense making

Some-things 
Stirring
But you cannot see It.
Less than wind
must be
that other
Dimension You
Feel but cannot
Touch.

Tension
and tingling, and tummy flips
Come from
There. You can smell
Rain
can't you?
Never-mind,
I think
I have asked before...

Painting by Alexander Helwig Wyant, 'Wind Clouds' c. 1927 via Wikimedia Commons in Public Domain.

Beauty mark

What a triumph it is

To truly love something

About your own 

Body.

Before the crash and

Burn,

I remember turning to him

as we drove by

Our ocean,

and posing to him-

Which one of my moles

Do you like the best?

He was smiling

Anyway and said

I love it too...

And I knew

The end.

Painting by August Macke, 'Couple at the garden table' c. 1914, in Public domain, via Wikimedia Commons.

That night

Moonlit midnight

Weeping willows whip with winds

Roses rock

thrashing thorns thrust

trash tumbles through the

sin slick stained street...

Suburbia stirs under sleepless sheets.

Chimes clang cacophony choirs

cats cry 

Porch lights pulse on the pale pavement

a piano plays...

Otherwise

Only one oppressed

Woman worries and wonders what will withstand

sirens, storms, shattering and shearing souls,

now and never

Survival so still

Havoc hath had

Infinite intention 

Itself.

Painting by George Bellows, 'Summer Night' c. 1909 in Public domain, via Wikimedia Commons.

Slate grey

Starting to look like my old self

Or young self

And when I steal a glance

In a random reflection

I have seen

The crazy haired

Listening

Clean slate

Child

That has been there

All along

Long time,

No see-

eyes were always grey.

Seriously-

is that the same 

insides out?

Born that way

They say

It goes that way, life

Mirrors...

What?

Again,

an echo reiterates.

Or so it seems slated,

Starting Over and I

Was Here

As if carved into

A tree.

Painting by Thorolf Holmboe, 'Weeping willows' c. 1907 in Public domain, via Wikimedia Commons.