They asked me to be the one to keep a record, once the reality of "home' no longer being behind us, but somewhere ahead still, finally sank in.

I think they asked me to write it, as the only true baggage I carried out of our pasts were journals & newspapers that could one day remind us where we started, or where we ended, or both in one. No one ever asked me to read a word from my luggage, as if remembering so soon would still cut too deeply. But someday they will.

And we all seemed to agree that a record of our present journey ought be kept, though our reasons for such opinions surely did not.

in the beginning, there were but pieces...

The problem was water, so rare to find any safe enough to drink. So we kept moving, kept hoping the next place would be the spot. A place we could find all we need, to settle, safely. Hoping just maybe this time.

Walking for long periods of time can often lead to reflection. So for vast portions of time we walked in silence. Pairs and singles, carts and creatures, dogs, horses, even an alpaca.

There were children with us, of course, who, for the most part, kept together during the days, as children do.

The nights held singing; and now and then, should new love or new life be born, even dancing.

No matter how hard things seemed, or how tempting the idea of giving up became, suddenly the river of children would mob by in laughter, or rainbows after raging storms might fill the sky, and somehow tired bones lightened, heavy hearts lifted, just that little bit more to keep sore feet walking. Ever on. To water. To a new home.

in the habit of creeping
keeping
all my dreams
hidden in drawers
a pocketful of sores
that just won't be ignored
barely consciously endured
still i do.

were you planning on peeking
seeking
all my dreams
yet to unfurl
shower promises, shower pearls
but i'm not that kind of girl
yes it's known throughout the world
and you do.

in the everyday dancing
trancing
all my dreams
lie here in this
your tragic sacred kiss
fading softly into mist
how could lovers not exist
in such subtle sweet remiss
as we do.

the best idea
seems to appear
as yet to run
in such as some
with hearts as ours.

his subtle flowers
no longer empowered
to moralize
what's deepest prized
yet so despised
by hearts like ours.

in tomorrow's turns
we'll find what burns
in tethered lies
and sweet goodbye's
while forever tied
to hearts devoured
yes those hearts,
hearts
such as ours.

to nmh

everything smells so wet
everything feels so set
floating in chaos of panic
hips burn, aching tantric
overwhelming sound of
daily life so subtle
impare & impede flows
of rhythmical rubble
swaying souls
decaying molds
consistent dream to
silent scream
fearful song singing old.

fighting more
less careless
demons' dress
untressel mess
deniably wait
for midnight's date
or fermented toil
in oil soft soil
sweet neuroses
timid & low key
apparent term sorrow
loyalty tomorrow
pale curtains spin
wretched room din
music tear quakes
in fasted mistakes.

marching straight in line
autopilot marks the time

a pace i can't maintain
in sunshine or in rain

but a tune interrupts
without notice nor with fuss

envelops the void
with me inside
lifts higher
and higher

lifts up.