Those days made black licorice memories,
Sullen skies hung heavy with thunder
And flowers bent
Of a potent wind.

I have walked so many miles,
Laid to rest in too many cities.

I am parched,
Dry lips and a tacky tongue.
One step behind
Something solid to stand on,
A bridge that will span the canyons
Without swaying wild
In fathomless gales.

My bare fingers listen
For truth,
Reflect my own love and dragons
On the inside -
Always on the inside.

I suspect that I really am
Older,
Rebellious wisdom in spry coils
Crisp in the autumn fires
That chase winter -
Blue lips and shiver.

Days pass,
Contemplation thick
On every tachycardic breath,
Those numbered moments
That hush me toward
Whatever's next,
Adrift on thin ice,
Gypsy'd heart skipping in
Random echoes
No one else can count.

I will discover that definition
That no one else can pen
But the I who sits opposite
The I in my own skin -
Who hums a morning
Built for hope.

04/18/2013