etched darkly

three trees

and in the middle

a still space

where the sky

sang with light

(I never want to stop noticing the details)

this story has no words

Migraine

when the world twists and bends around me

when the arc of pain burrows into my sight
when the light turns in upon itself
and warps into a writhing staircase 

I do not turn away

I look into the blinding spiral
I follow the incandescent path
I seek the wisdom strung sharp
suspended beneath the pain

the expanse

The point of marriage – – –

                                                       is not to create a quick commonality by tearing down all boundaries; on the contrary, a good marriage is one in which each partner appoints the other to be the guardian of his solitude, and thus they show each other the greatest possible trust. A merging of two people is an impossibility, and where it seems to exist, it is a hemming-in, a mutual consent that robs one party or both parties of their fullest freedom and development. But once the realization is accepted that even between the closest people infinite distances exist, a marvelous living side-by-side can grow up for them, if they succeed in loving the expanse between them, which gives them the possibility of always seeing each other as a whole and before an immense sky.

~ Rainer Maria Rilke, Letters to a Young Poet

Until

We cannot change anything until we accept it.

Condemnation does not liberate, it oppresses.

~ Carl Jung

the fight

this sleep  – – –

this sleep has claws it hisses and bites and Always it fights never stops never tires this sleep has claws it hisses and bites and Always it fights never stops never tires this sleep has claws it hisses and bites and Always it fights never stops never tires this sleep has claws it hisses and bites and Always it fights never stops never tires this sleep never sleeps never sleeps i’m tired

Lace

Are the holes – – –

Are the holes in this

lace woven there

or are they spaces

full of the absence

of those things that are

lost or maybe stolen

like a tracery

of forgetting or

a crazy pattern

stitched around the void?