To be happy

O the trial of being happy

It sucks my bones dry

My spine creaks at its weight

My fingers ache from gripping

Holding on

This guise I wear

O the trouble of being happy

There’s no room to breathe

This fight with gravity

Below me

The whirl of sadness is comforting

A hurricane of blue

Open arms inviting me in

Rest now, child

Your fight is over

Losing has its pleasure

Close your eyes, child

Let your tears fall

Let your skin open

Let yourself fall


Dark blue night

In these dark blue hours of night

We lie in a gentle ball of quiet

I listen to you breathe

Your skin glows moon-white

Still as a cold lake

Your arm – a tree root – finds its home on my skin

In my skin

My heart is tied to the end of a shoestring

You are the shoe

It’s these perfect hours

The night’s melodies all but faint

We are two

And none else

That I wish would stretch and curl

A perfect 8