In the forest I felt you
behind me,
fully aware and
fully awake,
maybe waiting or
maybe watching me move
between the rocks,
stalking peace
at it’s purest.
In the forest I felt you
silently standing or
searching or
seeking something that I
couldn’t see,
resting from or
resisting
the world outside of
where we were.
In the forest I felt you.

Windows

You learn that there are windows
you can’t see through,
and windows that are always closed,
windows which
there is nothing behind.
You learn to love crawling into windows;
you frame your body in them
and press your lips against them
to feel their clarity.
Without knowing it,
you learn that not knowing
is beautiful, and so,
begin searching for windows that
you can touch and love,
without ever knowing
what’s behind them.

Wind hits the smoke as it rises dangerously thick, pounding against minds that shut off with the pressure forgiven with the drama that has lifted itself through the floorboards and up to where I sit wondering why you’re always redefining art as something finer than what I know it to have been. Last night, stars were falling fast, so that I wouldn’t have to, and I had forgotten what I had wanted with you in the first place. The smoke that had been living in my mind shut off, as if I had been lifted from the dreams that keep me from resting. I can sense your dangerous mood through the floorboards, and so redefine my intentions and wish instead for peace, and for power to protect you from your own impure intent. I had forgotten that pressure increased like wind, when you’re falling fast or unexpectedly – causes time to have a certain relevance because you never rest and are never forgiven for everything that you’ve done. But these words are different, like stars that are always with you, within sight, even with the power of dangerous thoughts. Here, where I sit, is the finest art, a relevant peace. I’m just smoking and wondering what I would want with you if I had forgotten what dreams were for, or if my intentions would be different if the wind hadn’t been so thick.

I said don’t ask, think it’ll pass? Can’t last, more trash, but no cash, no stash – and the mask is safe as it hides your sad face, fast-paced emotional storm – worn down to another frown and small towns I haven’t yet found – can’t find a way down or a way around my soul, as you role through like a new color discovered, cover me in your sweet smell – sell dreams to tomorrow’s tick, tock, time-warp, the lock opened broken, stolen what’s inside. The door still open, you’re hopin’ for dope that you love too well, goin’ broke as hell – you fell, now you’re afraid to stand, and I think you’re screaming but I can’t hear a damn thing through the tears, the years we’ve spent apart – so let’s start again and mend our rented, dented, damaged love, uncover another song – it’s been gone so long, so long since I knelt before this peace, so long to being adored ’cause I’m bored with these chains and games and last names I can’t remember – these letters I never sent her. The words I meant but spent without speaking – they’re drinking, I’m sinking, and she’s winking at me as she passes, hoping it will last, so I told you this time not to ask.

Somewhere between bravery and shame, dirty feet rest on peach cement, dreaming of lives lived outside the hours spent here, openly questioning. The sound of guitar is not yet reaching the star-like masquerade of sunshine faces, seeking solemnn midnight streets. And you have not seen me beneath the layers of blue that wrap themselves around me. You have not seen me here, caught between bravery and shame, facing the peach cement of the stairway.

Ricki is a counselor and case manager at the Santa Fe Youth Shelter. The young people staying at the shelter appreciate and respect the combination of openness, acceptance, non-judgement, patience, respect, confidence, firmness, and strength that Ricki embodies. We would all do well to learn from and emulate her. - Geoff