she wouldn’t remember
my voice on
the end
of the
line
but responded with
kindness,
as though she had
known and
loved
me
throughout her
harsh life,
impacting me for
the rest of
mine.
rhyme
bury me in
autumn
so that i can thaw
like ground,
from peace
of solemn slumber
when springtime
rolls around.
fresh winds whistle
autumn’s
song
midst the absence
of birds to
carry it
along,
like a trickling stream
ready to freeze
at the very hint of
an evening
breeze.
wishing i could hold
your history,
not that it’d seal each
wound left,
by ones who hadn’t
mopped up
regrets
still seeping from
your chest..
all over
mine.
crimson of the
leaves-
symbolic of
blood..
from the heart of
a tree,
i’m raking up
floods.
when i
dread questions
the answer’s
in my
eyes
where i cannot
hide.
a hunter’s
moon
halts us within
her sights–
she aims and fires
with focused
might,
we take the hit,
and thank her for it.
if my shallow framing
of your truth
requires more
than a little readjusting,
bend
the borders
and step forth
to correct
me
where arrogance
gets the best
of me.
flannel hugs and
hot cocoa..
and we both
know
it’s you that fills
my cup,
lips meet
chalked with sugar..
another comfort
i won’t
give
up.
Footprints
were you to
believe,
could you trust
enough
to know you’re
loved
in ways no one
else has
been?
and though you’ve shouldered
life’s pain
the marks you’ve
left on the
map
are not
coffee stains.
hands in the garden 
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