I Will Plant You a Vignette (for Michael)

In this dimness of spirit,
when words and thoughts
– intersect
leaving nothing but a mirror

to tell your story,

oh, these syllables that bind, sometimes
dripping regret from every pore,
knowing love was never whispered,
cards face-down
behind tight lipped walls.

I think I will listen, this time
to liquid-gold lessons
told in a poet’s soft sentence-

~ scattered ~

in a path we should follow.

Something tells me the morning
won’t take away this ache,

while weeks pass unnoticed

except for quick-change caterpillars
dawning dark afternoons
like rosy cheeks
in pale moonlight.

You were never about the metaphor;
beauty escaping quietly
through vignettes one through five;

curtain closing
before the final scene

bowing out, gracefully
before roses met air,
so no one would get hurt.

For Michael Wayne Holland (Tres Magnifique),,, R.I.P. sweet poet friend



You changed me with ten tiny fingers
and cooing I can still hear in my sleep
as I pray away any chance that your eyes

will ever close before mine.

I lie awake in the summer
watching the blades turn
like ticking clock hands
daring a phone to ring

and in winter,

I keep your toes warm in my thoughts
like a lioness who never rests
until light breaks her lullaby.

I look at you and see myself;
my struggles, mistakes, joy, pain and triumphs
in the strands of your hair,
dark, like mine,
and I claim every one
for my undeserving, melting heart

with a love only God can understand.

Pages flip on the calendar as you grow,
knowing more than me, singing higher notes,
climbing past to mountaintops I could never reach;

winds whispering my pride from way up there
in colors too beautiful to translate.

(for my daughters) ❤


The Part You Forgot to Mention

Blame it on the stars
for losing your shine.

How long did you think lips
would curve
to snarling afternoons
and stale pick up lines
over late night tv dinners
(since I worked
and you “forgot” to cook?)

Perhaps if I had never seen the sun,
things may not have seemed so dark

coming “home”
to erroneous accusations,
a hot temper, cold coffee,

and so many reasons
to fly.




I could hear the notes from here;
watching clouds sway
to sadness.

The crack was just wide enough
for light to shine through
from your eyes
to mine

and everything after was a blur;

the kind they sing about
in smoky places where heads hang,
slurring words

about the one that got away,

but you didn’t,
so here we are-
stars aligned,


to something much bigger
than us.




Mingling with winged passers by,
sharing song in whispering winds;

pastel hellos in pink and blue
wave in symmetry; skirt-blown conversations
dipped and tickled by wildflower afternoons
that nothing but a hush at dusk can calm.

Too cool for summer as souls lock eyes
and the stars are never the same.

Like firefly serenades,
twinkle is all in the flow of lashes
when love saunters in
and tulips are more than flowers with petals
that dance quietly
until grip loosens, smile fades,
and your head falls softly in my lap;

fingers running through warmth
which only comes from trust
that gentle spirits bring;

dreams silently beaming,
the secret of twin flames.



Scene Two

He left me hollow as a carved out tree;
bled and broken, branches bent,
barriers built to the heavens and back,

helpless as a lamb in the woods
waiting for the next dramatic scene;
some starless scenario, falling
in and out of a loveless lullaby
lip-locked in dreams of caress;
this teary-eyed tenacious puddle

wistful smile, wishing,
begging to be awakened,
in a tranquil space;

love flowing gently
everywhere but on the rocks.