Intangibility

I don't know 

the nature of this 

fatigue, 

all I can understand 

is within its intangibility;

 

half-formed thoughts

in front of clouded eyes

 

crescent moons impressed 

into my palm 

matches in my throat 

threatening to alight;

trying to grab the 

fog only lets 

it dissipate between my 

fingers 

and I am left 

so

tired.

Broken Telephone

Somewhere along the way 

the telephone lines
had been cut,
leaving me ungrounded
and full of static
buzzing,
buzzing
through my bones;

I am lost
not in the
sounds of communication
of muttering
and whispering
but in the disconcerting
silence;

Thoughts
and myself 
suspended in
the skyline
of disconnection.

Paper Stars

They say that 

making 

1000 paper stars 

will grant a wish, 

and even though I don't have one
in mind,
I'm giving it a try,

sitting under the 

glow of the lamp

  folding and 

folding and 

folding.

And as I watch 

the stars multiply under 

my fingertips,

overfilling bottles 

and jars, 

I realize the magnitude 

of the innate desire
that I haven't yet realized
is larger than
I imagined,
and perhaps when I finish
1000,
I'll understand what
these stars are for.

Like Music

You and I 

are two parts 

of a song,

with different
tones,
dynamics,
feelings.
Separately we exist
simply and pleasantly,
together we live
complexly;
a melody of
complements.

Yet sometimes the dissonance 

between our notes

becomes too much, 

clashing to the point 

of breaking chaos;
yet somehow
we always drift back to
sweet harmony,
and our song
continues on.

Evening Summer Rain

It's 7 in the evening,

and a strange light is 

filtering through

the windows 

glittering with 

streaks of rain; 

it is lulling me 

to sleep in the sound 

of murmuring drops 

in the eerie yellow-purple-grey glow 

and the 

sadness of 

a summer evening alone

gazing outside

thinking 

about you.

Many Hats

Love is a man with many hats, 

a different form for everyone, 

even with the same person 

he may transform his guise. 

He is the torrid whirlwind of an affair 

and the steady rock of a partnership, 

the soft sweetness of warmth 

and the hard bitterness of cold, 

the truth in the lie 

and the lie in the truth.

And although he may 

look different for us, 

he is authentic to all; 

a man with many hats 

is still the same one 

inside.

A Confession

I had told you 

that I had merely 

forgotten what it was like 

to not be the listener, 

but that's not 

the full truth:

Pieces

I have become 

disjointed;

pieces of me 

feel ill-fitting, 

loose where

cracks are forming 

over my very 

being.

The pieces still 

precariously cling on but 

I can still feel the edge 

of everything falling 

silently and slowly 

apart.

Eventually, I'll have the 

strength to pull myself back 

into one but 

right here, right now,

all I need 

all I want 

is someone's arms 

around me keeping me 

together, 

even if only 

for a moment.