i’m close enough to
taste your words
before they’ve left
your mouth,
as practice in
restraint-
i shall wait
till they
come
out.
mindfulness
a trepid touch ignites ashes
on washed
skin,
like a stream
of dreams
untainted and flowing
towards no clear
ending-
to find pleasure in
the gentlest
of ripples.
we stalled and cranked
the windows
down
to lure fireflies
into our
car,
then found their sight
a bit too
bright
along with the shine
of a sky full
of stars.
i’ll pick the lessons
from your
truths
then follow each
down to its
root,
these long talks help
me through-
i’d miss love
songs
if you went
mute.
oh, birdie circling
my head
do you not
tire..
or
grow dizzy?
i shut my
eyes
and still hear the wind
in your wings-
if only you’d
start to
sing..
i’d hum along
to any
song.
our family tree
has lost some leaves
from windstorms that
brought old
branches
down,
time to climb to
see how
high
the top can
reach–
to touch clear sky
in moments
of grief.
’twas twice
as hard
to let go this
time,
yet now we’re
hands
free,
had we not, today
who would
we be?
it was backwards
in time
we stripped the clock
down to its
gears–
to tinker with
a heart
too cracked to
beat again.
these old pictures seem to
leap out of the
screen
to drag
us back into
our most wistful
scenes.
heartache’s but
a drifter
come to rest atop
the stump,
and
healing is
a warm embrace
born out of
self love.
hands in the garden 
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