tigmoni's strand.

please one morning
for simplicity
and one afternoon
for meditation
and one whole nite
for just rocking
back and forth in the grass
as sun becomes orange
becomes red
becomes moon.
one day or
never those things.
and one day for
always no things.

iced oolong.


the cold-whispering,
slow-wilting,
flower-flame.
still aglow.
still a-growing.

i feel we have nvr traded
or given any pieces
of ourselves unwilling.
the gravity of my feelings
to you has given me a
shield too strong.

i am increasingly
isolated in my head.
my life has become
skins of false colors.
i wear a cloak of a
blue sky with clouds and crows.

a light grows in me
and i am surprised
that when i speak,
my voice still
sounds the same.

godlike imaginings.