Morning arrived with an icy slap
of good intentions — a cheeky
reminder to weather another day.
The sun illuminates colorful leaves
left lazing through the autumn night,
packed tight by soles of passersby
enjoying the crush underfoot.
Sometimes I think I’d like to unpack
my soul and watch it pour
onto the ground just to see
the size of the mark you’ve left on it.
In the light we could marvel at the brilliance
of two souls cascading leisurely
together through whatever passes.
Insomnia took root in the fragments of the night
that buzzed through my mind like an earthquake
swaying my base and screeching for attention.
It’s a monster.
The persistent ogre waits to spring,
even as I hide under cover
beneath the canopy of stars stretched
too tightly this cool evening.
Of course love is fearless, steadfast as it sustains us.
Those stems that sprout where we sow seeds
have the power to overwhelm weeds that found root
and together we drown out the din entirely.
I sleep soundly at last.
I didn’t intend to disturb
the spider’s web as it twinkled
in the last of the evening light.
I was mesmerized by the soft knell
of the wind chimes announcing
the end of another day, the dirge
distracting me from the poor arachnid’s
impressive work. What remains seems
inadequate, or at least insufficient,
to capture dinner, and I wonder
if the spider will eat tonight
or begin work on another web,
empty stomach cursing the giant
thoughtless storm who lacked
the sense to walk around the glinting
piece of art now disappearing underfoot.
The memory we created that night
comes asking for blueberries when I close
my eyes. Purple juice carries more weight
when pinched between two fingers.
Tomorrow jumps two ways if we let it. A comet
tells its tale for only a moment, though its arc
burns purple against black, as if we should
be expected to remember the contrast.
That night I held her hair in my fingers. Promises
of tomorrow whisper through me still, echoes
smoldering in a crescent-shaped bend near
places I had forgotten could feel warmth.
It’s precisely because you’ve let me in
to swim among parts of you veiled
from others but protected from dust
— unmistakably you.
The sky is a river to the stars if we can hold
our breath long enough to bathe among
the abundance of life born in stardust
— unmistakably you.
Love is the best thing we do as we travel
together through a luxuriant universe
that allows fated souls to preserve in pairs
— undeniably us.
If we were fairies we’d live
in the putt putt houses
at the Fun Park. We wouldn’t have
to mow the yard since
the grass is fake and we’d be
together. I probably should have
led with that. We could fly
among the boisterous kids
who won’t let their colorful golf balls
stop before striking them
again. I wouldn’t even assess
a penalty — I’d just float on air
with you, a perfect world
too enchanted for tilting at windmills
or other distractions.
We are binary stars, orbiting
our own center so close we may appear
as one. Perhaps we are — one heart
burning with choreography
set to its own beat. There’s a universe
out there, a kaleidoscope of stardust
swimming in a river of hope
where the future is bright
because two stars shine as one and
everything revolves around us.
My muse wears dark hair
when she chooses. When
she makes a decision
there’s confidence in her eyes
any foreboding before
it can take root.
It’s the roots
that first defy her. No one
else could resist her beguiling smile
when she resolves
to turn it up.
She inspires my own
if she turns up.
As you flip through the pages
of my life
— in an upturned book
left open just for you —
I hope this thought
will comfort you
just as you sustain me:
My love was a boat
adrift in a salty ocean
searching for port.
One day you volunteered
to be my anchor.
These pages turn
smoothly between your fingers.
I see myself in these birds. Or more accurately
me and you — the red hair gives you away
and green’s always been your favorite color.
My beard is coming in nicely, though both it
and my cowlick run a bit grayer these days.
Your hair may be gray too if you ever let it
grow out. But life should be colorful,
like leaves in Autumn contemplating the fall
when they can kiss the ground at last.
So let’s share this tree branch a little longer,
me and you — whatever colors come our way
will be richer together, shared with you.
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