until

somehow
somewhere
someone
leaves a track
and you follow it
until
you find a new track

somehow
somewhere
something
makes you feel at home
you wrap yourself in it
until
you find a new home

second life

on the roof
right on the edge
of what looks like
a house
i don't know where
not sure if i like it
i really don't know it
don't know how to fly
where to fly
what to look for
what to ask

but there is a mystery
maybe some possibilities
some changes
some challenges
so i try again
i try to stay
i try to equip myself
to be able to be born
again..

from another point

from another point
i could merge
into a world
that has no beginning
or end
i would float
into a void

start and end
are definitions
words
frames
from which to contain
but they cannot keep
they cannot envelope
they cannot orbit
they cannot wrap
they cannot repeat
they cannot exist

shifts
signs
footprints
anything that follows..

it can be anything

i have no fear of it
it can be anything
we can all be bunny rabbits
he says
we can even be the balls
the colorful balls
on the river
we can be floating
we can be flying
we can be nothing at all
is there a fear
of the nothingness
of a loneliness
of a darkness
how is one to know
how is one to think
i have no fear of it
it can be anything

we might be able to hear them
the beings of the other worlds
in a few years

it is a matter of time
he says
before we can find a way
to live
forever
to make each piece survive
and function forever
but would i want it
even if i see it
happening

i have no fear of it
it can be anything
or nothing at all

a testament
for the memory
drawing over the curves
so that they wouldn’t fade..
over time

redrawing
revisiting
remembering

an absence
of just the physical nature
but present
as present as you can remember it
as present as you can keep it

as present as you can keep it.

it’s an escalation
a growth
can’t hold it in a photo
can’t draw it on the skin
can’t carve it out of wood
can’t see it from one angle

it’s a revelation
a release
can’t describe it with a color
or zoom into and out of it
can’t sort things into it
can’t own it

it’s a celebration
a joy
not for a day
or a part of an hour
not for the birth or death
not for the before or after

comes and goes..
comes and goes..

somewhere in between
a memory and an imagination
something roots
and grows
and becomes
a reality.

does it matter?

are dreams part of it?
does it live in our senses?
does it live in our thoughts?
does it exist out there
by itself
without us?

does it wait for us to realize it?
understand it
and maybe believe in it?

does it shake?
does it hurt?
like we do
does it walk
like we do?

do we catch it?
do we breathe into it
and out?

how do i capture it?
how do i save it?
why do i save it?
how do i know if it's it?
does it matter?

maybe the where you are
maybe the what you do
maybe the what you want to do
maybe the who you've been
maybe the what you see
maybe the who you know
the what you see
the what
the what
you want to see

maybe the night you have
maybe t e what yo mis
maybe the image
maybe the real image

the real
the real
maybe

i don't know.

linger

the sky did seem
to want to open up..
it didn't

but i don't mind
and we don't mind
your presence lingers
shines from inside
and warms us

for an undertanding

for an understanding
of why we do as we do
for a clearing
that seems so simple
and is yet
so impossible to reach
for a way of being
that is of no color
and has no name
but exists
I hope it exists..

the walls turn yellow and brown
and the air gets thick
the shadows shift and shiver
as the cranes fill the sight
the crows sing aloud
and the dust settles down

the dirt on the sidewalks will clear..

not with words

not going to go away
not with words
made of inks and papers
to not accept it
a layer right on top of things
hiding the holes and the carves
deep..low
i will catch the next train
it is only
in a few minutes..

hold your arms

I have come to war with you
i am on your side
you are on the other
I have seen your ways
and i have seen the destruction
hold your arms
hold your arms

white boxes

made of parts
that will be remembered
and pieces that will not
and not because you didn't want to
but because they just got lost
among one of the white boxes
or got thrown away
by mistake.

a way of thinking

a thought
could be addicting
a way of thinking..

..and before you know it
it will freeze
and now you can’t swim in it anymore
but you can walk on it
if you trust that the ice is thick enough
you are scared of falling
into the water again
you know
that this time
it will be too cold
and you might even
cut yourself with the broken ice

so you try
to think about something else..

clear

I look ahead
As I pass over
And pass across
It has all fallen into place
I just need to learn to walk straight
I just need to learn to walk unafraid
A clear and uplifting mind
A clear and free mind

under my feet

the white road ahead
so inviting
the sound of the snow
under my feet
days melting into one another
like the snow flakes on my skin
feels so clean
and simple
and it feels like
it can go forever
so I keep my head high
and my thoughts floating
the possibility
is there..

live inside

it is an ugly day
only if you see it that way..

i live mostly in my thoughts
names..
i forget easily
even stories
so I have to try
to remember
i have to try
to live inside the second
not after it
and not before it

to live
and see
through
the innocent eye

i have thoughts
hiding behind my hair
i can’t cut my hair
i can’t cut my hair

no narrative

there is no narrative
just about a walk
and what comes to mind
during this walk
the feel of the day
and the colors
and the ways things were
and the way things can be..