Hawkston

Tass Witherspoon stood on the fire escape outside of his office window and looked out over the city. Los Angeles, a town of dreams for other people, maybe, but just a final gathering point of scam artists and cheats as far as he was concerned. All of the sleazy elements that wandered through the good ol’ U.S. of A., ended up here sooner or later, along with a bunch of nice, naïve folks who didn’t know any better. Folks who should have stayed home with Uncle Fred and Aunt Mable. Put enough of both kinds of people together and somebody was going to get upset or hurt and usually both. “Then they call somebody like me, hoping someone who knows better can get them out of their jam or find what they lost.” Tass sighed and rested both elbows on the rusted railing that the local pigeons used to roost on as they chatted about all the statues they would visit that day. “I can’t find their dreams, though. Once they’re gone, that’s all folks. Might as well get up and go to work, cause it’s

There is a time in the morning When I don't think of you. As the sun creeps up the wall and The morning dishes dry in the rack The cats argue over who gets the Prime sleep spot on the living room floor And the sounds of birds in the garden Filter through open windows. For a short while You are absent from my thoughts. There is a time in the afternoon When I don't remember your laugh. The sounds of the lorries as they Trundle by and the occasional wail Of an emergency happening on the far Side of town fill the void The angry staccato of some faux Rhymer who counts cash as their Fans clash drones sullenly on. Still, echoes of a man's laughter Seem to dance through it all. There is a time in the dark When I don't remember your touch. As skin slides against sheets While the light has diminished to An afterthought and sound has Sunk into the ground Time seems to pause for Just a heartbeat. Tipping past the edge of wakefulness I know I am alone.

One more time we sit together Like we have so many times But this time for you and not for me. One more time I read to you your favorite story Although I can only whisper the Raven's line But you don't seem to mind. One more time we go outside together No need to stay on the porch anymore Now you'll always be a sun kitty.

We walk a fine line between fiction and reality For we can only exist In the land between the words and the page. Where shadows are substantial All the hard edges are softened One can almost see what isn't there. If we were one of my stories We would have to face the impossible Lose almost everything But we would be. I don't know that my story would end happily. So often they don't. The hero loses the heroine because There I am Fate and tragedy is what I know. If you were creating our tale How would we be? Would you save me from the fate worse than Death Or would I solve the puzzle and set you free? The happy ending is too far away for either of us to tell. We are overshadowed by ghosts of the past Specters of old stories that are more real than we are... I'm content then, to let our story tell itself. Twilight is a good time for stories that can't exist On the whiteness of a page And nothing is real

Love is not the reason that you call me late at night Love is not the reason I am here with you tonight Love is just a topic we never seem to talk about Love is just a silly thing which we can live without. Love is not the reason for the little things you do Love is not the reason that I'm always there for you Love is just a heartache best left buried in our past Love is just a question we should never ever ask. Love is not the reason that you believe in me Love is not the reason I want you to be free Love is not the reason, we're just friends right from the start But Love might be a reason if we looked into our hearts.

I wish you could see you Like I do. I wish you could hear you Like I do. I see the magic of caring and sharing In your smile that you give to those around you with no reservations, Without charge. I hear the beauty of your soul In the words you speak And the music of your laugh haunts me For days. I wish you could teach me to love Like you do. Long ago, I learned the emotional And monetary value of Love, The laws of Supply and Demand. I became an accountant of feelings. But you spend your love without Checking the balance Or measuring the rate of return, So love comes back to you Unafraid and increased.

… live on in the heart, We store them there for the times we're apart, Then on our travels, we are never alone, But just looking forward to the day we come home. All good things are our wishes for you, Days that are warm and skies that are blue, Nights which are filled with dreams that are true. But, come the day when you've had your fill, Return to us here in the Keep on the hill, Come feast with us as the Bard plays and sings For your presence is always the best of good things.

To sleep and, perchance, to dream … Dream of summer days when evenings were purple and lightning bugs and heat thunder in the distance … Dream of winter nights when days were growly white bears of sleeting snow and sheeting ice ghosts … Dream of spring evenings when mornings were sleeping kittens full of the promise of wiggles and pounces … Dream of autumn mornings when nights were velvet rendezvous watched over by diamond dragons … But most of all, just dream.

You found me at a crossroads as I tried to run away And gave me the chance to come with you Into the world to play. I asked you once where we were going, In reply you only smiled, Then took me to the meadows where A dream can still run wild. We found a nest of fledgling falcons High in a redwood tree, I asked why they were beautiful, You said because they're free. I've wandered off the path sometimes, Frightened and all alone, When I'd turn a corner and you'd be there To safely take me home. I wondered at first if come tomorrow You'd be different than today, But as days go by, you always are The same as yesterday. When I asked you who you really were, You simply held my hand, And showed me in the silvered mirror, And now I understand.