Summer’s Day

September 10, 2017 § Leave a comment

His love is like a summer’s day
More lovely than William’s sonnet
Like the restless wind of a woodland glen
And all the scents upon it.

Herbs crushed beneath my step
Only mimic his skin’s perfume
Beneath my lips like raspberries
And sweet as a wild bloom

He is as warm as the sleepy sun
And calm as the afternoon
His embrace is like the comforting silk
Of a moth’s unbroken cocoon

I wish my summer’s day would last
Til May becomes December
But summer days I cannot keep
I only must remember.

5/13/1998

The earth trembled, but only where I stood

August 10, 2017 § Leave a comment

The earth trembled, but only where I stood
And the sky, no longer blue, split a seam
Shivering, I gasped within the fog
As in the moment waking from a dream

Overturned, the basket of the world
Spilled out the messy contents of my head
I leaped for down, but upward made my fall
I reached for peace, and found my love instead

My thoughts spin, and from that spindle drops
A thread of rich and variegated hues
And while I sit here plucking at the knots
To salvage wisps of floss that I can use

Then thread through a needle of my hope
And patch the gaping rends within the skies
The earth trembles — but only where I am
As if the universe has grown in size

11/16/07

Persephone’s Regret

March 20, 2017 § Leave a comment

Love me like Persephone
Who sees spring return
And regrets six seeds
hesitantly plucked
When the whole fruit
was in her fair hand…
Love me not.

Small Birds

March 10, 2017 § Leave a comment

Small birds complain in the softly falling rain
too light for the cover of my hood
it falls like a kiss from a friend.
I breath the sweetened air
as I walk uphill
and by the time the rainfall grows
I am walking on the broad way
among the cars and the crows
who never complain, but state.
Black bodies sleek wet or dry
They say a small bird’s egg
would make a fine meal
and pull greasy burger bags,
last night’s trash, from the bins.

Sometimes, I have something to tell you
that does not matter any greater
than the complaints of small birds
or the detritus of the expired night.
So like the crescendo
of this morning’s rain
here is my kiss.

2/11/10

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