some time

sometimes I remember one specific sunset and wish
for that microscopic 

moment

& for the vital things like heavy blankets, grass-covered toes, and the black notes on a piano.

sometimes I have all those things but forget about the tree 

bark we collected, it was intricate and left wood powder on my book,

about our first summer dives into that pool and about how I gradually became used to holding your hand. 

I don't know how it happened. But

some times I'll remember all that
makes the good things become more like real things 

the colors in your eyes more important than the stressors... 

sometimes my heart spills out 

normally, down my arms, rolls across my wrist, off my fingers, and stumbles out, away and toward the green 

trees

the mountain 

the quiet wild and it all says I do good to let my heart 

go 

first

(more often),

the rest will follow

it's normally there

that I feel God touch me 

y'see he's the wind

and his voice rustles the trees and whispers about letting 

my heart stand up 

more often.

"Look up"

but I wanna look down and

see myself 

from above, 

live in thinner air and clearer skies,

and watch peoples' eyes when they look up at God.

from everett mills

weasel face.

(today is) 

clouds 

out my window in my head

(tomorrow is) 

rain on my roof

smells fresh clears up my brain

then (summer) 

90 degrees and swimming 

(we'll be back then back to work)

and the weather is always asked to be an excuse

the sky is always carrying interference and Light

she is the ocean

we live on her ocean floor

we can't swim, we just look upward at the marine life and 

play i spy with the floating mashed potatoes

call me whimsical

but I will listen to old jazz

and smell pines.

one of life's
wrinkles
(gentle, smile creases)

is to sit among flowers and feel wind brush my face. 

I don’t want to write it down because I want to relearn over and over, often.

it will always be true.