There are places in this world that remind us who we are. That time is not best spent planning and worrying, acquiring and gaining. That this life is for shedding, letting go and living in what remains.
There are these places where the light is delicate. Where the water's cold chill raises our skin to goosebump's refresh. Where early mornings hold the laugh lines, the soft creases of joy throughout the day. And gratitude is the gentle fog that comes in after the rain.
There is this place where God holds the sun in His hand, where He opens His fingers to let the light spread over every field and flower.
This place, this sweet Minnesota cabin, situated somewhere on the thin line of Canada. This sand is my heaven. It's grains, my tiny words, filling journals and secret rooms inside my heart.
I will find you in the somewhere,
in the muddy, outstretched sky.
I will find you in the somewhere,
where the clouds kneel down to cry.
I will cover each and every stone,
with hope and strength to borrow.
For when your heart, it walks alone,
through trails of grief and sorrow.
I will find you in the tea stained sky,
in the crooked, broken trees.
I will find you in a harp's soft strum,
in the quiet, floating leaves.
I'll rest a finger on the tip,
of fallen houses new.
And battle for the eyes that weep,
for wounds of black and blue.
And seeds unearthed,
by pull and dig.
These blossoms found
in rock and twig.
Hold on, my heart,
that you may know.
The creeks you wind,
the weeds you grow.
These small tributaries,
these hollow lines unseen.
That move through veins of flesh and bone,
for what we wish and dream.
The sweet relief,
of words made true.
By river's depth,
a quenched renew.
Our heads submerge,
to quiet the hums.
Untangle the strings
caught in fingers and thumbs.
You whisper, my sweet,
into night's swollen ear,
"Your heart, my found anchor.
This sea, my lost fear."
I'll no longer shake,
these fingers point.
The skeletal limp
on fractured joint.
So nestle me closer,
in morning's new light.
These dreams that lay sleeping
in maybe's and might's.
And there in your hand,
where lines travel west.
A sweetly wrapped secret,
held close to your chest.
And these eyes that hold,
written scrolls to unfold.
The stepping stones leaps,
of secrets you told.
So sit with me slowly,
to watch open skies.
And listen, sweet berry
to our whispers and sighs.
Soft infant clouds,
awake from their nap.
To lay their heads gently,
upon your safe lap.
And flowers that bow,
and bend at our knees.
To hold the dipped hands
of each leaf on the trees.
And sweet water dew,
the fog blindly creeps.
Past doors left unopened,
while forests still sleep.
I'll keep you here,
in wakes of new blue.
In orange bottled light
of summer's sweet hue.
And long, tangled branches,
of straight lined birch.
Each crooked bend,
your heart goes to perch.
And the rings of each tree,
mark the days we let go.
The days we left buried,
in winter's last snow.
So asters, go quickly,
and find your soft bed.
Between the torn sheets,
of words we once said.
And foxglove, there,
lend me your eyes.
My petals grown weak,
from this weight and this size.
So gratitude, gratitude,
please make me new.
With the soft spun seeds
of too many, more few.
And there you stood,
in the light of what will.
Your heart a deep pocket,
to harness and fill.
And the dapper young yawn,
of a prairie wide day.
The white tailed escape,
of a sunrise at play.
This grace is the queen,
with her lace dipped in white.
Weaving mistakes,
with her beauty and light.
And this place called remember,
steals strength from the wind.
Informing each moment,
just when to begin.
The stars left unseen,
behind black clouds of fright.
Are stars kept in waiting,
for moments most bright.
And this summer sea,
with it's diamond light.
Lifts the waves to reflect,
these stars back at night.
This place is a tower,
a hand held last stance.
To bring them together,
this fate and this chance.
And the skin of the birch,
made dark by the storm.
Feels sunlight mid morning,
suspended, yet warm.
And there, at the bottom,
mistakes lost at sea.
The deep tranquil waves,
of this mutiny set free.
I will find you in the somewhere,
in this lake of broken glass.
Where wakes of summer sleeping,
still wait for winter's pass.
Come home,
My darling.
Come home to me.
Take rest in these arms,
of my broken down tree.
