As soon as everything else is gone
and all I hear
is my thumb tapping
the rubbed wood of my guitar,

I'm going to offer you
my other hand
that writes
and does not play.

If you'll only just stand still with me
in this deep canvas of poetry
and feel against your back
as I do

a future
pushing...
trying to get through us
trying to originate, the way

sunflowers blossom their seeds
in the full face of summmer,
the way spiders emerge from warm dirt
trapped under stone fingernails,

the way my nervous system
deposits tears
in places only the wind can reach
and hope emerges

a future
pulling...
trying to move us
trying to start, a new day.

Softlead