I long to brush away
sun sutured red hair,
to trace dots
on unsheathed shoulders,

to kiss a bare blade,
and hear a soft sigh
or breathless intake of air.
As morning comes I would awake

still dreaming, a carnival
blurr like early morning
reflections across the lake;
I crave to finger beneath,

to move aside a tangled mess
and reveal eyes that stare back,
unimpeded and full of sleep.
I yearn to move closer, my palm

cradling cheek, nose to nose,
to breathe in breath
and finally feel the heat—
to rest in the moment of a dream.

by (c) Joshua Biddle

They will tell you
the best way to see through
darkness is to keep moving.

One step at a time.
Defeat the beast—for eyes
to focus through strobe black

up the spine of an elated
concience, shun shadow
and pluck the feather

of a crow which seeks forgivness.
But residue resides, an offering
able to burn white with light,

hotter and brighter
than eyes can withstand.
And there will be a choice,

sound of caws from altar rafters,
demanding confession,
or redemption—

a spiral that will never be
forgiven nor whispired—seven crows
a secret that never will be told.

by (c) Joshua Biddle

What am I looking for in a foggy night,
like tonight, where the lights are dimmed
from the distance and the denseness in between?
This place, conjured from otherworldly occasions

where events are exhaled into existence and forgotten
like the slow inhale of a breath being absorbed
into the body; though I am out of body,
standing in the place between the swaying shadows

of a swinging lamp, attempting to connect the dots
from where my body stands to where the light
is its brightest. Yet there are many sources,
like the street lamp, to the passing headlights

and tilted reflectors standing guard,
to the dull shade of puddles standing
beneath my feet. And I am remiss in forcing
one direction for losing sight
of all the denseness of this foggy night.

by (c) Joshua Biddle