a teardrop into
puddles,
a breeze become
slow breath,
the sigh into one’s
heavy hands
a whisper shy
of death.
rhyme
atop a carved up
table on the
balcony
leans my lone
potted
plant
and i watch memories
weave between
its leaves
as though they
were live,
as we’re frozen
in time.
fate came
clawing
yet he evaded
its grasp
with a faith more moving than
the words chosen to
describe it,
while beneath skies that rolled
like jewel lined
meadows
he glanced up to find
remnants of
you
in that
never-ending blue.
and inspired were
dream clouds
as we stood
beneath
them
in a pose that had us
believe we could
reach them.
listening in ways
that open
me
to depths i’d long
foreseen,
then when your lips
parted to
share
i felt for
what you dreamed.
on your humble
hands
i feel years
of toil,
still trembling from
from demands
of men who don’t know
sand from
soil.
his mind’s a
coffee
shop
with its
murmurs..
spills..
and lack of quiet
space,
amidst head’s busiest
times of
day.
mothered by
my tears
i’ll embrace
tenderness
and
bear conflict
in all its
masks
and rattling
fists,
until disturbed by
none of
it.
’twas atop the
mountain
winds blew
fiercest,
as we stood
firm
in
nature’s
onslought
to recapture the
courage
we once
forgot.
within winter’s fading
breath
floods a freshness that
turns the
cynic,
sentimental flowers on the tips
of our tongues,
view clear blue sky
for days to
come?
hands in the garden 
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