A flower blooms as beautiful as its gardener foretold. In a garden only of weeds with bold and bright petals. One predicted a flower so magnificent and nurtured ever so gently. Fragrantly tender, sweet as cinnamon rising above lifeless soil of thistles.

Before darkness, it was dawn’s tune The sun waved with its bright rays The gentle breeze whispered in ears The birds chirped and exulted in joy Before darkness, the clock struck nine The streets were bustle with life’s rhythm The sound of honks spread urgency…

Before Darkness   Before darkness in those last, quiet moments when the sky is pinkest, there is a breath when winking stars promise us we are of them, too: phosphorus and zinc and gold – start dust and star guts so that before the darkness…

No huge, tearful goodbye, Just a fade away without a try No screaming, yelling, throwing things Death match of slamming doors Just a sudden emptiness when I reached for You and found a vast expanse where You used to stand, a fuzzy engulfing blur The…

My new wine adventures missed me yesterday – Work interfered with the delivery – “they” will insist on a 21 year old (or older, much, yes, I am) signature. The flapping “missed you” notice mocked me fro the door, frustrating, familiar, all about timing. Small…

silently the dewdrops Unwrap The mirrors of the night sky Each dewdrop holds a star They met in the dark Loved Merged Do you see the shine Is it the dewdrop The star Or the love Shining through Lighting up the life Before the sun…

The birds are noisy, each flying home to nest and rest The last child leaves the playground Struggling to loosen his father’s grip The leaves rustle whispering to each other the coming doom The dogs stop barking The cats are no where to be seen…

  I want to know you, I want to see you. I want to see what you look like, underneath that mask. I want to see you when you’re alone at home. I want to know what you do when your nose itches, and I…

cloud turtles in a piedmont sky drifting westward are soon as lost to me as your voice; did you know when we met that we would end like this? even now I struggle with the idea of loss, of never, of forever.

I planted flower’s in the garden of the stranger and I was called stranger for how I mourned their death. despite my efforts, it would not rain. even the clouds could smell the sour on the skin of my strange, forgettable gardener