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Soon, darkness recedes.
But tonight I wrap myself
in velvet-starred black.
She said she felt like
a fairy princess, draped in
blue with beaded swirls.
Undercooked pancakes,
misspelled cards, weeds for flowers.
Love makes them perfect.
Who will you be, and
from where? What will have brought you
here – mere chance or choice?
Rake leaves left over
from fall. Clean porch furniture.
Spring into action.
A schoolteacher in
a barrel did what no man
could – lived to tell it.
Slanting through speckled
panes, turning cobwebs into
faerie gossamer.
Hills like cut paper
black against tissue blue skies.
Through poked holes, stars shine.
Hats, gloves, put away
in optimism return
for winter’s last gasp.
Bergamot infused
leaves unfurl comfort. Problems
dissipate like steam.
From an estate sale -
pendulum clock. Westminster
chimes now count my days.
Emily Bronte * labored quietly but I * scream “Here are my words!”
In the skyscraper
canyons, light outlines moving
shapes sipping Starbucks.
a dilemma of
riches in tiny topaz
the art of language
Mud has a smell that’s
like waking up to coffee.
You know you’re alive.
the constant dripping
nature’s tears of joy as she
sees her world reborn
Days grow longer like
smiles that stretch wider as one
greets a long lost friend.
Like the extra hour
when we fall ahead, this one
day a trick in time.
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