lets pretend ~

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homeagain

they warned me
of a poet’s son
of distances
undone
of paths beyond
the memory of paths
fields beneath
a starry night –
lay my body down
to trace
the ways –
becoming this
every world to one

where whispers
bloom a purple hush
and always
takes my breath
words I cannot speak –
a verse ignites
ancient skies
to others past
blossomed lets pretend
where stars
no longer burning
score the night

. . .

as a psalm ~

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dreamy

questions
leave me breathless
e’en when the silence falls
when years are passed
unwillingly to night –
tis there
the petals
once reserved
are opened by a sigh

essence unrelenting
as a psalm

remember me
as melody –
verses into one
tracing notes
lilac
shades of stone

breathe to me
as answers come
by names another wore
let me sit
while silently
they dream

. . .

Author’s Note: There are nights when I pull awake with a start, returning from another place – not so far. In the darkness, tears pool as I search frantically for a place to write.

unpublished-

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there are pages
yet unpublished
inkstain of a kiss
times and days
remembered
unto this

breath where i
another taste
a night
not long ago
words became a whisper
i love so

poems writ to places
shadows sworn to fall
binding us to something
more
than e’er we may recall

fingers bent
to fingers
silence bears us still
beyond the reach of leaving –
the memory of will

. . .

nothing else ~

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duck river

how is it now
the past is come
scattered by the wind
hardened crumbs
were once a croissant
dreams we shared
with ne’er a thought
of sunset o’er the break
darkness settled deep
into our bones
houses kept apart
from joy
bliss we dared believe
the dawn would press
warmth to sleepy eyes
assurance of remember me
lest nothing else make sense
heaven held to shadows –
dusted yesterdays

. . .

from whispers ~

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these hands

where
beginning
just this now
from roots forgotten fell
to make of weeds
a bushel more
than e’er my lips
could tell
from whispers
once a secret kept
awake most all night long
words I scarce remember
yet my heart
has made to song
where paper fails
shelves
where none are felt
a vault is lined
with buttercups
and lace
linen was my color
more lavender than blue
verse infused
to fill my blood
with you

. . .

another almost this ~

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20170331_152004

I dreamed
beyond the edges
into a thicker deep
where buttercup and lilac
weaved a spot of shade
of one more
ever after
one more winter past
rocking chairs
wherein my laughter sits
reminders of another day
another almost
this
nights when not a one
were stars
we made

. . .

Author’s Note:  Many years back, my sister gifted my daddy with a concrete bunny for Father’s Day.  It sat in the grass next to an aging bird bath, with one exception.  When it was time for mowing, my daddy would lift the bunny to sit atop the bird bath so that it wouldn’t be accidentally forgotten, damaging both the bunny and the blade.  For almost two years now, it has sat atop the birdbath.  Though time has passed, we know the hands that put it there and have no desire to displace it.

How often do we need reminders of love?

. . .

tethered ~

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“Sometimes, in the midst of a crazy day or a crazier week, I get an email from my brother, ‘meet you below the falls in five minutes’. And just like that, I am somewhere else, breathing in the cold spray from high above, as laughter echoes off canyon walls. Even now, I close my eyes and hear the wonderful music that is bare feet on flat rocks.”

If we’re fortunate, we realize the blessing in the midst of its becoming rather than only in retrospect. In doing so, we free ourselves from bitterness, regret, and a future filled with frustration as we attempt to re-write the past.

In doing so, we erase the illusion that is time.

While the body may be tethered to the advance of hours, years, seasons, love is not. As someone near and dear to me commented recently, ‘How time dissolves in the mind, when our frame of reference is simply love …’

Touché