revelation

the inspiration

in the day to day…

the powerful and inane thoughts that

flee my conscious and

beg for life on the page…

begin with maybe some

trilobite encrusted in limestone

or an unusually orange sunrise

or maybe just watching a

wasp fucking an orchid-

but always end up,

here.

Her.

pounding heart,

sweating palms

throbbing…..

yeah.

That the snowfall blankets the

rotting leaves just so

or that

a one eyed dog goes limping past my porch

in search of love

means little to my hands

my fingers

this brain

when it comes time to

create

or document

a picture in

a thousand words or less.

That love,

romance…

skin,

breath,

a heartbeat

all circle back around,

gaining speed and gathering heat

from

the harvest moon

or the sound of children’s laughter in the distance

drowning out the drone of a lawn mown in the

heat of summer;

that she can sneak out of

the foamy white swirls of high tide;

that the sand between my toes

somehow

coerces thoughts from me of

being entwined in her legs…

well, that’s the spark,

the moment of conception that

leads to poetry, isn’t it?

That the bite of a fall wind on my neck

and a summer breeze through my hair

morphs into thoughts of her

breath…

it’s not that they aren’t beautiful

inspiring

deserving

all on their own…

it’s just that

she is so much more

and they are so much less.