The Psychology of Hello

We took a train
for a change of scenery
and three stops later,
we got just what we asked for-
the waft of corn nuts and ben gay
followed by suitcase wheels
over my two small toes
with a distant I’m sorry,
a clickety click of fingernails
on a laptop across the table
and an impromptu proposal
in the seat behind me .

Two stops later, words fell
from a gold edged book
accompanied by sighs in song
to psalms, sweaty palms
joined by tattered strings
of a Fender. She was a beauty;
traveled the world
and Lord,
could she tell stories.

I looked at him
and he looked at me,
smiled with our eyes,
both thinking
how nice it will be
to get home.




March 31

I remember the twilight you left,
looking up to find you,
but the sky was like a highway
of constellations. almost colliding
in a 2:00AM traffic jam
looped ‘round the moon.

Just when I thought my task,
an impossibility,
there you shone, falling,

like the star you always were,
vying for the spotlight.
Even in death,

you had to be the center of attention.




There were nights
when starlight seeped through
a tiny crevasse

and that was all I could savor

besides an occasional passing firefly
with his wings unfurled
awaiting such a deprived soul as me
to fling his secret sprinkling onto

and watch the darkness seep through
walls of existence
like a shred of gold pierces sadness
so an ounce of joy can wander in,

I saw the future in his feathers
and hope sprang from a seed
into bouquets of lilacs
curled around tresses of angel hair
until music and me were entwined

almost like a symphony of nothing
but unfiltered strands of morning

and all I could do was watch as it sang.



The Color of Her Linens

Night came like silk
across her lashes,

kissing cheekbones,
ever so slightly,
pressing soft against dreams.

Those cottonball clouds,
they sway, they sway,
like feminine hips;
like cotton candy
when it touches the tip
of the tongue,
melting away doubt.

She gazed out the window
amidst the mist
of their silhouettes,

and all she could see
was white.



Someone Spun the Moon

We captured constellations
from ravenous skies;
knelt upon stacked rocks
spelling our names into mouths
of red birds in a swaying birch.

We had no more regrets to ponder,
with angels to to confide in;
prayer wafting love

whispering wind
through willows, weeping.

He walks with me
in alliteration,
fragrance of humility
brings us to our knees;

silhouettes dancing
to the blush of dawn

upon these smiling daffodils.



Love Letter #27: Little Sticky Notes

Tulips open and close as you pass,
because even they know gentle
when they see it.

Until you,

I never knew how to bring the wind
to a whisper and look at stars
through keyholes to savor the light;
the delight of alliteration willows bring
when wind encircles their limbs
lifting like skirts,
leaving green song of weeping.

After this winter, let’s wish for early spring
so we will never have another morning
without daffodils tickling us awake
and cardinals peeking through
blue bedroom curtains
leaving song in our heads

like the little sticky notes
I leave in your briefcase
so you will miss me more

than the last syllable
of your favorite poem.