First Glance

First Glance

Chilled rain comin’ down
beat my skin like ice
cold air blowin’ round
slivers, silver slice the lights

The flashing signals;
throbbed on wetted streets
stopped me thinking;
heard a heart beat;

warm illumination on faces
eye shine tracers fluxing in shadows
blue fire burning through the blushed red
pierced me like an arrow;

A blue stare, pierced me like an arrow



Secret Place

Photography by Reno K Lawrence

Secret Place

You poured out your heart,
without fears
as if cool rain, giving
in dusty heat.
I wade deep
in those pools
spilling in the harmonious
babble bubbling;
mirror of your soul;
shades of paradise,
the lotus cupped in His hands,
between us –
white call to greater abandon
where we
take on new meaning;
Tears of joy welling
from the dark tempest
in my core;
souls undressed
as if a sun
cut through clouds;
your giving rain,
the inevitable tears,
us wading there,
in that secret place.

The Spill Back

In many ways,
the length of a life
is a slow and steady
evaporation of emotion
through the pores.

The magmaculate want, unsatisfied,
love like sunshine,
often hidden behind storms
starves the land and the child
whom grows in it.

The unseasonal torrents,
perpetual wet of Winter, bleeds
into Spring, Summer, Fall,
and Christmas, the high noon
of Winter, Christmas; an island
where Ark may, or may not land.

Youth is tenacious
is a cope, is a callous,
the blind necessities
build dams where we near drown
before the spill out,
the gush, unpredictable falling,
wild rapid running, and we,
get tired as all war,
find our foot standing on a stone
while the other searches.

I often look back,
and see layers of sediment,
visible lines of a melt
cut impressions on the soul
polished, shaped, and shiny
When all released in the quiet cry
the inevitable giving back,
as much as earth and world
could bear it;

no longer volatile,
but surrendered
no longer turbulent,
now rests in the gravity;
migrating elephant transformations
takes us through lush valleys,
beneath veils of thin cloud,
steep canyons kissed by sunshine,
streams spilling to rivers,
descend, and meander
where remnant flow
gives itself, once and for all,
back from whence it came.