Plane 3

Even the clouds
Have fathers that
Glide above them
And sons that
Float below.

From above
No man can find the son
And from below
Blind white.

Between
The sod
Who sees both
And aspires to
Neither.

Plane 2

Clouds from afar.
Screens from within.
Blue succumbs,
Gently, knowingly,
Destined.

Plane

Such skies
Above the storm,
Blue without lines,
Out of focus.
Below,
Rippling as waves,
Clouds of white snow.
Memories beget
Prophecies beget
Memories.
Alone.

Then

Its miraculous how
Our memory fades
To leave scars that
Whisper at 3am
For years and
One day exile themselves
Speaking then only when
Spoken to.

Song

To wrap my arms and legs 'round life
Make mornings noons and nights my wife
For one day lived in moments lost
Makes parody of her the cost

Empty

Is it worse
To cut with
A razors blade
Or align all things
To a foot ruler?

What is measured
Is no longer itself
But another.

Larger perhaps
But removed from
Itself by statistic
And callous number.

What was once whole
Is now empty but
For its relation
To the other.

Razors end lives
Rulers erase them.

Miracles

Desperate
With loss
And battles
And mind
A moment
A day
Like another's.
And hope
Anew.