Lost and Found

The pit catches
Your heart when it falls
To your stomach

I can feel her
Looking at me

I look back
What else am I supposed to do?

I wish I could write about anything else
I wish the hook would come loose
I wish I could see the perfect life we live

When she tried to catch me
She only saw half of who I am. 

The scales of my lower half
Only for refracting light
Holding in my shiny. 

I glide through the water
Not swimming, rather
Being In between
here and there
Then and now
Her and I



I wonder sometimes if it was her fault 

I know how much she hated children
I wish I could have known how

It would all work out
I don’t know 

Why we had to go
There just wasn’t enough space
In her house
Or heart for you
Or my love

Eyes telling stories 
Of time before we knew it

Whenever I try to get out of the way 

I just get more in it. 

It’s always the same with me

Putting things in

Where people have pulled them out

There is no mystery in my mysticism
It is not lost on me

The irony that 

Today I threw that

Raw-stone sapphire ring

She gave me 

Into a quarry
Where they pulled 

the pink From

My open heart

admired all the green
Space abounding

Rhythmic sounding 

Cryptic knowing 

About hows and whys. 
This is how I release her. 

Bit by bit

Falling over my own 

Knowing of she, me, and we
This was never a tragedy

Eight years of adventure

Kisses and tears. 
This was learning how to walk. 
Tripping over my

Feelings for her

Getting stuck in

My own muck. 
Maybe this is what love looks like

I was never afraid to fall

It was the sudden stop at the end. 

Two Years Later

I planted hydrangeas

She ripped them out
Said they were taking over 

She didn’t understand 

How they grew so much

So quick to act. 
She asked, and I complied

I hadn’t figured out how to use

My no-how to keep sacred things

I asked for a wildflower patch

She told me they were nothing but Weeds. She couldn’t understand that any blooming thing is a flower when we let them be. 

Two years later she planted a wildflower patch. She called them mine. Until she mowed them down. 
“I don’t think they were coming back this year anyway.”
Two years later she wanted to find a way to get me hydrangeas for my new apartment in the city we would never share. 
The hydrangeas were already there. They’ve been growing forgiveness

They’ve been waiting for me. 


If I could snapshot my mindI wonder how many negatives I’d have to develop before I couldn’t find you in there. 
You’re always a dark room

That red-lighted

Damp darkness

Where I’m always hoping

For a different picture to develop. 
If I could snapshot my mind

I wonder how many images You’d still

 find beautiful from before we had enough
I’m still holding the camera tight

To my chest believing

Heartbeats and apologies 

are stronger than these memories
I was never good at taking pictures

That weren’t of you. 

Dear Yoga,

I’ve missed you

It’s your smell

How it enters my whole being when I lay my head down and breathe with slow intention

It’s the way you feel under my hands

Soft and firm, and ready beneath me
I’ve missed you

The time we’ve shared as you watch 

My body move through all the motions

And you encourage me to open my heart just a little more, but not so much it hurts. 
I’ve missed you. 

It’s the way you stay and go at all the right times. With me. 
I’ve missed you

The perfect space you hold for me

To lay down completely

Letting go 

And to support my whole being

Not just my body
I’ve missed you. 

I’m sorry I haven’t seen you

I’m sorry I stopped working hard for you because you always worked hard for me
I’m sorry.  

I’ve missed you. 

I’m ready to come home. 

Her Eyes

There are days that they are green,

And I know that she feels most alive reflecting the earth from which she is growing. 

Some days they are blue. 

When she has drifted into the sky and she threatens to become a cloud. 

On the worst days they turn grey. 

Then, we can only find our knees to pray that we can make it through this gentle storm. 

Her eyes tell me everything I ever needed to know about the emotions that she will not show. 



Sitting alone

In a room full of 

Familiar strangers
She wishes hard 

That she could reach

For contact outside her

Own skin’s prison. 
For her

Everything is inside

Nobody knows that her hands

Are trembling; shaking her fresh

Manicure. She pulls her fingers to her lips hoping to stop them

To pause

Before she speaks. 
She smiles and nods 

Hoping to look softer than

She knows she is. 
She won’t be remembered. 

The casual conversation flips

In her mind 

And twists itself 

Into her love for her own quiet space

Still. She sits. 

A stranger in a room

Of familiar faces. 
June 20, 2015