A Lollipop and Some Confetti

Just when I feared my blog was at risk of falling out of use the last seven days happened. I don't even know where to begin to describe the week, except to say that since my Nana passed away just over a month ago things have come to pass that were entirely unexpected, and it seemed to play itself out in a whirlwind this week. It all started with a lollipop and some confetti:

Those of you who've known me for some time probably know that my Nana and I were very close my whole life. She wasn't just the warm, loving matriarch of our family; she was also my confidant, playmate, and fellow mischief monger. We are utterly connected, and as we grew older together she was ever embracing more and more of her childlike self, so that we could meet somewhere in the middle and playfully embrace life together every perfect time we had the chance. This meant things like sneaking out of the house with my Poppop at 11:00 at night to get late-night cheesecake at 24-hour diners, sitting on the couch nibbling entire boxes of cellas together, a lifetime of trying to sneak an early peek at unopened Christmas presents, and whimsical days of eating popcorn and gawking at cute boys at Circuses. My spirit, I think, is somehow infused with much of her own. I've never taken it lightly that my middle name is hers, that in a family of hazel, green, and brown eyes both of ours are blue. 

You might also know, or you might not, that my Nana loved to try to sneak trinkets and silly things out of restaurants and diners...forks, salt shakers, sugar packets, etc...completely harmless but it always earned her a good scolding from all of us. Additionally, and more immediately important for the sake of this post, she also tended to ask for sweets every time we went anywhere. This could be candy, or ice cream, or cheesecake, but probably more than the others she always wanted to be rewarded with a lollipop, like a child who's behaved well at their doctor or dentist appointment. Now, I'm not an especially superstitious person, but literally since the moment she passed away last month I have been finding lollipops everywhere. And I don't really eat candy, but these lollipops keep showing up everywhere I go. More significantly they're usually dum-dums, and I don't even know if they sell those in England. Yet, every couple of weeks or so I find one lying on the ground, once on the floor in front of my bedroom door at my flat. The day my Nana passed away my Aunt found one lying on the ground next to the car door at our usual diner.

As if all of this wasn't enough then came the confetti. The day I got home to England after flying back to America for the funeral, I dropped my suitcase onto the floor and collapsed onto my bed after a long, physically and emotionally draining journey, and as I turned over onto my side I saw a tiny glimmer next to my eye on the pillow where I was resting my head. I sort of sat up to look at it, and lying there on the pillow was a single piece of golden confetti, in the shape of a graduation cap. The sequence of events here is significant for the skeptics amongst us...I simply walked in the door, set my bags down on the floor about five feet away, and laid down in bed. And there was a piece of confetti on the middle of my pillow that I am certain was not there when I left...as it turns out, it is identical to the confetti my family used at my baby cousin's high school graduation party in Long Island, New York, a couple of weeks before Nana left us. If it is all merely coincidence and nothing more then it's a lovely one that makes me smile, but for me these lollipops and that tiny piece of confetti have been the kisses on the cheek I miss most about her. They've meant feeling like she's with me when I need her most, as if to assert that she's not far away, that it's all going to be ok. The family is going to be ok. And that's where all of this starts. 

Blissful afternoon in Edinburgh, eating ice cream at the park with friends

I think the best way to do this is to explain the timeline of a few events: I woke up on Monday morning in York, went to sleep on Monday and Tuesday night in Edinburgh, Scotland. I was back to sleep in York on Wednesday and Thursday, and on Friday I was sleeping on a bus that was taking me all the way to London through the night, and then on to Paris. By Saturday afternoon I'd spent some time in Paris, and by Saturday night I was in Vernon, sleeping just a couple of miles from Giverny, where Claude Monet once painted his waterlilies. On Sunday morning I woke up to French bread and coffee, went to Monet's jardins et maison for a brief but breathtaking visit, walked through the Impressionists' Museum gardens, and then got into the car and headed to spend the next couple of days in a beautiful seaside town in the north of France called Honfleur. Apparently it is a very popular tourist spot with the Brits. Monday night I got onto a train and made my way to the outskirts of Paris to sleep in a beautiful flat in the business district. I woke up on Tuesday morning in Paris, made my way via the Metro to the bus station, drove through the afternoon to Calais, boarded a ferry, made it back to London by early evening, waited anxiously for a few hours in Victoria Station, and by 5 am on Wednesday morning I was back sleeping in my bed in York. Wow? Wow.

Now, I do have the most insatiable appetite for travel ever, but even for me this week was, quite simply, nuts. But the thing is, I feel like it's expected of me, kind of like the torch has been passed on or something (admittedly silly) like that. My Nana's story is built on the greatest love story I've ever heard. It's the greatest love story most people have ever heard. Just ask and I'll tell you sometime. I just keep thanking God because I don't know what else to make of all this, for every perfect day that I get to savour. Who knows if my own will be a love story, but these days I can feel my roots spreading out, soaking up rain and planting themselves right where I am in the soil of a story that is beginning to brew beneath the surface of my life, and whether it turns out to be a love story or not it will be my story, and so far it is turning out to be indescribably beautiful...

This is all stirring up so much poetry in me :)

Finding Aengus

 




















Looking deep into orange shadows

 cast in the glow of dying embers and cooling ash,

anyone, lulled, would be drifting to sleep,

but I must tell you, first,

before I, sinking, seek you

in the delicate hush of my dreams,

that today, when I was with you,

for the first time found a hazel wood,

felt breathlessly alive in its fragrant breeze.

I've ached all my life for this place we passed by,

pitifully wandering while ages of apple blossoms 

withered in my sea-salted hair and died.

But today, as if it no longer wanted to hide,

there it was on the road, quelling my thirst

like a kiss long desired.

And perhaps it would matter little 

but as I felt my spirit flying off into the wind,

clinging only to the shiver of your eyes fixed on me,

I recognized the heavy branches of my secret forest,

saw its aged sign peeking out behind fruit-laden trees,

and just then came floating in my ravished mind

welcome thoughts of one day waking to the only

thing now left in this world worth seeking:

I would not ask you to be for me the sky,

no matter if we are old or young,

only to simply, when the time is right,

kiss my lips and take my hands,

and as the hazel wood beside me, 

forevermore be. 

Waiting

 

It might be wasteful to write

of ticking clocks,

or even to notice midnight falling

on fields of forgotten slippers

waiting to be found.

Still, tonight,

when the lights go out,
and the bells start to toll,
a girl will find her arms reaching for heaven,
thanking God for blankets of rain.
Wrapping up 'til her skin is drunk,
she'll sit someplace
perfect - alone -
drowning in torrents of teardrops,
hiding in the downpour
so they can't see her cry.
Somewhere there is an empty slipper
made of glass, expecting to shatter

when the clock strikes twelve.

She knows he'll come save her...

Maybe tomorrow.


A lot of the time the poetry I write tends to be a reaction to emotional experiences. This time it's admittedly a bit sad, maybe a bit lonelier than usual, but the story isn't quite as autobiographical as many of the others tend to be. It was a reaction, however - this time to a moment I experienced a little over a week ago. My Nana, one of the greatest loves of my life, passed away and I was flying home to America for a few to days, to be with my family and say goodbye. I hadn't really been able to cry since I got the phone call, aside from a few moments when I was alone packing in my room and felt a few solitary sobs escape. One such instance struck me on the plane, just as we were taking off. Knowing the meltdown couldn't happen there, surrounded by strangers, I turned my eyes to the window and found it completely covered in raindrops. Suddenly the tears dripping down my cheeks felt tiny, and didn't seem nearly as obvious. I don't know why, but I felt comforted by the drops of rain obscuring the glass. And then I wrote this.

Once Upon A Time

Somewhere out there in the world
do you think that there might be
two little girls in pigtails,
like we used to be?
I wonder if they're wearing cowgirl boots-
white ones and bubblegum pink-
running and playing in frilly socks
writing stories in mud puddle ink.
I hope they're making up music
to sing the dandelions to sleep,
while they're weaving each other rings from thread
it turns out they will always keep.
Do you think they've found a secret place yet
along a brook or stream,
where they'll spend hours in the froth
like faeries do in dreams?
I imagine there's one with fire red hair,
the other with sapphire eyes, bright blue,
hand holding hand while hard years pass
as, once upon a time, when I was with you.

~ For Alyza ~

Marshall and Gladys

"Let's drive," He said to Her

without telling where,

in a car that He borrowed -

how nice of Her fiance to share...

Into the city,

no matter the rain,

a lifetime of sunlight

about to begin.

Her strawberry hair blowing

soft in the air,

blue eyes sparkling in city light.

No wonder He fell to one knee, right there.

~For my Nana and Poppop. You remind me to believe in love every day.~

An English Summer

Scarborough Castle

It's been a while since I posted, but during my absence something important has happened in my British life...it appears that I have nearly run out of all of my American essentials - excedrin, toothpaste, deodorant, q-tips - the supply I stuffed my suitcases with before I moved to England, which has comforted and connected me to home these last 8 months has, at long last, run out. I think/admit what this means is that I officially live here now. A friend from college came to visit last week and brought me my favorite laundry detergent, so at least I have that luxurious smell of home to cling to, but aside from that, the time has come to give in. I knew this day would come, and admittedly dreaded it, but now that it's happened I have decided...assimilating is fun : )

Thinking back just a few months to Christmas I realize how much more settled I've become in my life here, in such a short time. I got very sick at the end of my European vacation during my Easter Holiday, and the last two months has been a struggle to get well between a number of misdiagnoses from doctors here in York. All of this finally culminated in a big scare and 5 days being kept in the emergency room at the Hospital with a blood infection. Much to my pleasant surprise they took incredible care of me. The National Health Service actually came through with flying colors. They really did save my life...and (you silly mistrusting Americans!) it was completely free. Thank you, God! My hospital stay wasn't the only thing that helped me realize just how much I really live here now. In between being sick and taking time to heal and get well again I have had amazing friends taking care of me, and helping me get out into fresh air again. I've started taking day trips around England whenever I have a chance. We've hopped in cars and stolen a few hours to get away and get to know this place better. In the last two weeks I've taken little excursions to Selby where I had a sleepover with friends at a Medieval cottage, and I've done two separate day trips to beautiful little coastal towns in North Yorkshire, along the North Sea - Whitby and Scarborough (of Scarborough Fair renown). Each trip has been completely wonderful. Whitby was surprisingly quaint and picturesque. It was completely worth every excessively windy moment, just to feel the sea breeze on my skin and laugh at being nearly blown away in the wind, all against a magnificent backdrop of abbey ruins. Scarborough is stunning. We found a hidden spot on a cliff, and tucked ourselves away there to look out over the sea below and the castle just off in the distance to our right. There was a somewhat devastating lack of parsley, sage, rosemary, and thyme actually, but finding Anne Bronte's grave, and playing on a sandy beach complete with £2 donkey rides and 60 pence homemade donuts helped me get over the initial upset. The company of beautiful friends has been the best part, of course, but it's also been nice thinking to myself, "there's no hurry in any of this. I have plenty of time to see anything I want. I live here now" Very basically, summer in England is awesome. Life here is so good. It really is the stuff fairy tales are made of.

Speaking of summer luxuries, I woke up this morning and went for my friend Lea's birthday breakfast at our favorite indulgent tea house in York. Sitting there felt completely natural. It's still special going to this perfect cafe, but this time I felt like I was right at home, sitting there contentedly with two Brits, one Canadian, and a Beijing beauty. On the walk home I passed five people I know heading into city centre - one married couple from my department, a friend on a bike, a classmate walking with his girlfriend, and another friend on his way to a wedding. This may seem a small thing, but it struck me. I'm bumping into people I know all over the city now. York is really beginning to feel like home.

~ Some sites from York: This is what my May and June have looked like ~

Whitby and the North Sea

My favorite site in Whitby - the accordion man with a dancing marionette

Whitby Abbey ruins

Playing outside Whitby Abbey

Second Recital. Two down, one to go!

With my good friend, Sara Marie, walking the walls of my city

The view from a carousel, at the foot of York's castle remains, after we climbed up and visited Clifford's Tower

My favorite feathered friend on campus. I call her Portman.

Walking up the stairs to Scarborough Castle

Scarborough Castle

Friendship and the North Sea

Anne Bronte's grave in Scarborough

The paved road to Scarborough Castle

A sweet man painting an old Yorkshire house along the wall walk

Bittersweet Symphony

Windsong

 -Nia Rhein

Today I lay imagining

in a grove of weeping trees,

the sound of your voice

whispering my name

cooing in the liquid breeze.

I would that I were the wind

your echo weaving through me,

forsaking the honey,

the milk, and the wine,

if only to, with you, be.

But since I am only imagining

what you left behind

I choose the music

of your heart beating,

in time, through the hush, with mine.

Claustrophobia

Do you ever just want to get in a car and drive? I'm having one of those days today. One of those weeks, actually...I love being without a car over here most of the time. I love having an excuse/need to walk absolutely everywhere, no matter the weather. I actually enjoy getting caught in the rain when I'm walking back from city centre sometimes. However, right now I have unquenchable American wanderlust, and I just want to drive. I want a long dusty road; big open farmland on either side; crumbling, leaning shacks with chipped white and grey paint covering the overgrown grass crawling up the sides of these somehow beautiful wrecked buildings. A quick stop at a farm stand for some vegetables, complete with dirt crumbling from their just picked roots would be perfect. But they don't have that kind of thing here, at least not where I am. Gothic Cathedrals-yep. Castle ruins-check. Bright yellow fields of rapeseed-oh, yes. Cobblestone streets-everywhere. Oily, dusty roads? M.I.A. And the claustrophobia sets in...

Sounds Like Home

Drum Roll Please

I've been busy working on a new website! I figure since I'm linking my new site here I should probably do the reverse as well. Check it Out! http://www.wix.com/niarhein/niarheinsoprano

This is the first time I've made something like this so Comments/Suggestions are welcome!

Music To Live By

Tonight I found myself needing a reminder of why I love the music I do. My reminder playlist consisted of the following:

Robert White- Magnificat [Tallis Scholars recording]

Palestrina- the 'Kyrie' from Missa Papae Marcelli [Tallis Scholars recording]

Dufay- Nuper rosarum flores [The Song Company recording]

Lotti- Crucifixus [on The Sixteen- Music for Inner Peace recording]

Palestrina- the 'Credo' from Missa Sicut lilium inter spinas [I'm a sucker for the Tallis Scholars recording]

Alonso Lobo- Versa est in luctum [TSSS 2006 Seattle recording. so flawed, but soooo heartfelt and good : )]

Allegri- Miserere [choir of King's College, Cambridge recording]

Cornysh- Magnificat [a video of a friend of mine singing - just youtube it]

Victoria- Missa pro defunctis [Armonico Consort]

Victoria - O magnum mysterium [Cambridge Singers]

Josquin-Ave Maria [Westminster Choir]

Josquin- 'Sanctus and Benedictus' from Missa Pange Lingua [Tallis Scholars...seriously...the pleni sunt coeli over and over and over again]

anddddd Tavener-Hymn to the Mother of God - [The Sixteen recording]

and Michael Head-The Ships of Arcady - [Ely cathedral choir]
Mike Fili- Psalm 4 [WCC composer's choir : ) ]
Charpentier- Alma Redemptoris Mater [Emmanuel Mandrin]
Charpentier- Gaude Felix Anna [Emmanuel Mandrin- Grace et grandeurs de la Vierge]
Buxtehude-Quid sunt plagae from Membra Jesu Nostri [Bach Collegium Japan recording]
Strauss- Im Abendtrot [Arleen Auger recording]
Grieg- Erotik [Leif Oves Andsnes recording]

Tutti: Meanderings

It's been over a year since I started writing poetry again, and it's all spread out now so I thought I'd put it all into one place so it's easier to find on the blog. I'll link back to the original posts in case you want more background information on the stories behind some of them. They're in chronological order. Hope you enjoy : )

Beginning Again- 

 ( Original Post )

It's been such a long while
since I gave my self to you,
took you in the tips of fingers
slippery with nervous sweat,
and sat naked, waiting.
Drenched only in ink,
stamping this world with impermanence,
I might dissolve, I might wash away,
but I might not, patient pen.

Away, Home or, A Way Home-

( Original Post )

Bear me gently from this place,
Carry me away on the harmony of your transcendent wing.
I will keep its pulsing rhythm,
And find my way back here again.

Take the kiss of my sweet song,
Wrap me up in our melody-the one we wrote.
I will part from you for now,
And find my way back home again

Amaranth- ( Original Post )

Lost in the deep thick of a forest, green,
I, weary from wandering, stopped to take rest.
Beneath rain-kissed branches,
laden with fairy fruit, dripping with steam,
I sighed for sleep and fell, at once, into a dream.

A voice came ech'ing o'er the chilly air,
singing a spell to wake me from sleep.
The emerald trees began to murmer,
their strange music whistling through the breeze in my hair.
A far off maiden was whispering my name in a meadow,
I knew not where.

I broke through the thicket to find her,
my armor flashing in the moonlight, pale.
At last there came a clearing in the woodland, wild,
And a muteness befell me, so lost was my will.
Before me danced giants, trampling the green mantle bare.

Clad in aprons of flapping hide,
like ancient stones of milk-white marble,
men or beasts they leapt through fire,
in time with tongues of dragon-breathed flame.
And in their midst a girl was standing,
A garland of petals through her golden hair tied.

My brow was damp with melted dew,
my brave skin torn by bramble and rock,
when she saw me hiding and bid me come.
I took up my sword, but at once set it down
And went running, instead, to her eyes' piercing hue.

And the earth seemed to rumble
when seeing me they laughed
in tones afore unheard by any man.
We danced in the deep as if old, long lost friends
while streams were hissing and sloshing froth.

Their hands were stained, but not with blood-
with juice of berries, warmed in hot sun.
But thieving light came and morning broke.
The milk-white marble was turned to stone
And in place of my giants four mountains stood.

And she, in an instant, vanish'd from sight,
from the distant wood where we danced away night
But in her place a trinket I found-
an amaranth swaying, still casting a spell.
Now here I sit beneath four mountains, tall,
guarding this flower 'til next night shall fall...

  Invoking Giants-

I wake and yet feel still asleep
'til off I drift into a dream
where giants tear down heavy trees,
through dancing flames forge golden beams.
I beg them, "Stop! and quiet, be-
drink up this brook, this cursed stream.
When it is dry then I may reach
the far off one who calls to me."

 

 

24 Hours

of new born ice on aged rock,
melting, ever,
farther from mystic beginning
into vital flooding-life.
24 Hours of falling,
a cold blanket,
on every inch of stony street,
'til I wrapped up in the warmth of you
and fast became slush-you should have warned me- and was shoveled away.

The Tickling Wind ( Original Post )

A little girl watching a tree caught my eye.

She thought the leaves were giggling

in the wind whipping by.

"That ticklish one there," she smiled and sighed,

"is going to fall from all its wriggling!"

The air was chilled with wintertide

when her once-green leaf turned yellow and died

But I thought, "she's right...it's happily wiggling"

A story so sweet of life passing by. 

The Night Thief 

(Original Post )

It was night when it came,

woke me with a pebble

tossed soft against a pane

so the glass wouldn't shatter,

but rang piercing treble,

'til torn from a dream

I heard it whisper my name.

I tried to sleep

for fear of the air

but the shadow could seep

so I stood at the sill

to be taken somewhere,

stretched my hand to the thief,

and felt myself leap. 

I expected to fall

and found, instead,

our feet flew up walls,

grazing chimney and tree.

Far away from my bed,

seeming ever more small,

I breathed in it all.

I doubted my sight

beneath blue-black cape

while he plucked from the night

into crinoline bags

what was not ours to take-

glittering stars, brilliant white,

tucked away in secret, extinguishing light.

By chance, then, he saw

in my face something sad,

cupped his hand to my jaw,

took me quickly away

to his people, wing-clad,

and houses of straw,

each collecting a star while I watched in awe.

Night after night I wait at the sill

while hours pass,

wondering if he will

come back to find

my wonder lasts,

to see me, still,

bags in hand, ready to fill.

Independent Love Song- (Original Post )

A forehead is NOT a sexy thing.

So why can't I stop thinking, then,

about yours when I think about you?

I must really love, it. I must really love...

Oh, I hope someone, 

someday will like my 

forehead, too.

"You should be asleep."

If I could I would answer: 

I'm awake 

because I'm wondering,

whenever it is I finish wandering,

will yours be the hand holding mine?

And would it worry you to know

that I wish it always? Or,

that what I want most in all of this world

is to drink wine 

and laugh at something funny, 

wherever, for ever,

with you.

This morning I got up early,

stretched, yawned, 

poured a cup of coffee,

thought of you,

looked out my window

without a view, shivered a little

while the air turned colder. Then,

something changed-

a reminder it's not yet spring.

Blue became white, and 

I watched the rain 

turn into snow. 

(Original Post )

Unsent-

I found myself writing a letter today

when the paper slipped and cut my hand,

but just before I sipped it dry

I let the blood-drops dripping stay.

They kissed each page with crimson stain,

telling secrets my mouth can not.

I read my words and wondered why

I write down things I'll never say. 

Reflection in a Stream-

One day when I was very small

I walked along a stream

and saw beneath the water there

a face looked up at me.

I saw her eyes and wondered why

so sad they seemed to be

but tears were only ripples, lost,

then drowned in water deep

For Better or Worse-

You're right. I am wild with life.
And I will keep burning, seeping, spilling,

knowing it might make you afraid

to fall so far the ground might even tremble-you
couldn't have that. And it's why you won't have

me. For the part of my life that matters

you have been the silence

screaming louder than my ticking

clock. If you'd only let yourself look you

would have found me looking back 

from behind a gossamer veil, 

woven with flecks of gold, asking you to follow,
beckoning you to come with the bend

of a finger and a smile that's always been 

ownerless, belonging to you. But if you ask me tomorrow,

if you finally see my wild eyes and don't look away for fear

of where they might take you, I'll have to swear it's all

forgotten. There is a too-late 

vow I'm taking today,

that you are not my whole wide world.

From this day forward you are only part

of it, for better or for worse.

Sometimes it's perfect being the only one awake

to hear hushed murmuring memories,

playing like music, melodious in honeyed air,

plucking streams of cobweb strings

while I kiss the wind with all that's left

of the breath you didn't take from me yet.

Sometimes when that same sung breeze reaches my cheek,

I stop fighting my feet, and let them take me somewhere,

'til tears drip down my eyelashes like rain,

and I start to feel better,

finding there is something so deliciously sweet

about loving you on a night like this night.

 

So I’m Told-

 I'm told it is best to write what you know,

waving a sparkler in warm summer air,

telling stories to fireflies blinking by.

And while I sometimes wish it was love I could weave 

in silver streams of smoke and flickering light,

it turns out, when I spell it in the sky, 

that what I know is music.

And if I know love at all

it is only because you give me reason to sing.

Nursery Rhyme

I wrapped up tonight

when the sun went to sleep,

put on a sweater,

pulled out a book. 

And I sat in the dark

until starlight peeked in

through the window

to bathe me in just enough light. 

It was then, with my fingertips

caked in dust,

I flipped a page

and climbed inside.

All my edges

began to blur,

becoming a picture

in long-dried ink.

If weeks were to pass

and you found this book

lying open on the table,

next to curdled milk,

would you look inside

and find me there,

captive in parchment,

drying up?

Would you save me - I wonder -

could you spare time to try?

If missing your voice

I'd found your eyes lost there,

beside mother's goose,

I would dive in after,

regardless of knowing

we could never get out. 



Little One

Drift away, little one, 
let me hum you to sleep, 
while nightfall is touching your cheek 
with warm light.
Dream away, little one, 
of any good thing, 
and if ever you are lost, 
this lullaby, sing.   

 

Windsong

Today I lay imagining

in a grove of weeping trees,

the sound of your voice

whispering my name

cooing in the liquid breeze.

I would that I were the wind

your echo weaving through me,

forsaking the honey,

the milk, and the wine,

if only to, with you, be.

But since I am only imagining

what you left behind

I choose the music

of your heart beating,

in time, through the hush, with mine. 

Once Upon A Time

~For Alyza~

Somewhere out there in the world
do you think that there might be
two little girls in pigtails,
like we used to be?
I wonder if they're wearing cowgirl boots-
white ones and bubblegum pink-
running and playing in frilly socks
writing stories in mud puddle ink.
I hope they're making up music
to sing the dandelions to sleep,
while they're weaving each other rings from thread
it turns out they will always keep.
Do you think they've found a secret place yet
along a brook or stream,
where they'll spend hours in the froth
like faeries do in dreams?
I imagine there's one with fire red hair,
the other with sapphire eyes, bright blue,
hand holding hand while hard years pass
as, once upon a time, when I was with you.

 Waiting

It might be wasteful to write

of ticking clocks,

or even to notice midnight falling

on fields of forgotten slippers

waiting to be found.

Still, tonight,

when the lights go out,
and the bells start to toll,
a girl will find her arms reaching for heaven,
thanking God for blankets of rain.
Wrapping up 'til her skin is drunk,
she'll sit someplace
perfect - alone -
drowning in torrents of teardrops,
hiding in the downpour
so they can't see her cry.
Somewhere there is an empty slipper
made of glass, expecting to shatter

when the clock strikes twelve.

She knows he'll come save her...

Maybe tomorrow.

Finding Aengus


Looking deep into orange shadows

 cast in the glow of dying embers and cooling ash,

anyone, lulled, would be drifting to sleep,

but I must tell you, first,

before I, sinking, seek you

in the delicate hush of my dreams,

that today, when I was with you,

for the first time found a hazel wood,

felt breathlessly alive in its fragrant breeze.

I've ached all my life for this place we passed by,

pitifully wandering while ages of apple blossoms 

withered in my sea-salted hair and died.

But today, as if it no longer wanted to hide,

there it was on the road, quelling my thirst

like a kiss long desired.

And perhaps it would matter little 

but as I felt my spirit flying off into the wind,

clinging only to the shiver of your eyes fixed on me,

I recognized the heavy branches of my secret forest,

saw its aged sign peeking out behind fruit-laden trees,

and just then came floating in my ravished mind

welcome thoughts of one day waking to the only

thing now left in this world worth seeking:

I would not ask you to be for me the sky,

no matter if we are old or young,

only to simply, when the time is right,

kiss my lips and take my hands,

and as the hazel wood beside me, 

forevermore be.