gardens, and the such.

full with the dreams of newness.
pouring over the sides.

there are things growning deep here,
things we can not see
unless we dig deep.

but if we dig deep before it is time,
the roots will wither in the sun.
the leaves will turn yellow, and wilt.

so we let them be.
we wait it out.
we look forward.

another poem or two.

its too cold for me here.
too cold for the pieces of memories.
it is too cold for the thoughts
i have of you.
too cold for the dreams
i have at night.
when my feet are afraid of the floors
that bite at their toes,
i slink around a makeshift house
in socks....oh wretched things.
i sink deep into the shower,
and think of summer rains.
sand beneith my worn down feet,
and you dirty from head to toe
with mountian soil,
and road grit.

a new poem for faryn.

oh yes, another little bit of poetry....
i am pregnant.
nine weeks tomorrow...
i will have to write more about this when i have more energy, and i can keep my eyelids open for more than 30 seconds....off to lala land.zzzzz