Press In

It all starts at sunrise,
this meandering of thoughts
taking syllables for a stroll
through fields of audacious wildflowers;
wind-blown tumbleweeds
and restless dandelions
tossing caution into the day, like clouds
anticipating any sign of a storm.

You cannot reproduce miracles
like the alliteration in a sunrise
or the charm of an oak that’s had its day,

but, you can speak to sentiment
through the lips of a bride;
fourth finger trembling “I do,”
and every letter after falling into place
by the time constellations arrive

because everyone knows
poetry is a foreign language
to all but wanderers

and dreamers who press into the night.



Here Come the Butterflies

All you left were falling stars and questions;
the flame in my heart, still burning bright
like a light in the window; your empty seat
on the porch swing, my half-hearted smile
in the morning, those weeping willows dancing
with my pain. The skies open, asking for a sign
and then here come the butterflies floating yellow
fluttering all the reasons why you couldn’t stay.



Behind the Veil

The sky was gold that day
and the birds, those singing cardinals
seemed to stand out
like scattered stars in a black, black sky.

I’ve carried weeping wonders into the world
within the strings of humming harps, smiled
wearing the scars of a warrior,
“the patience of a saint,”
my Grandma always said
behind her veil on Sundays.

I wondered why she cried
when the choir sang,

and now here I am,
arms outstretched
reaching for more
of him;

more light to fill the void;
to heal my wounds

and his heart.



More Than Four Walls and a Floor

Aren’t we lucky to have laughter,
singing in the morning

and more than floors to hold us up;

our whispers intermingling
under the covers,
warm vanilla candles at the alter,

and your cologne kissing me goodbye?

Why is it still so difficult
every time we say goodnight;
our eyes telling the story;
fingers intertwined
in a prayer for each new day?

Let’s never take a moment for granted
or miss one I love you
while we still have four walls

and hearts to hang our hats upon.




Pulling Weeds

Joy trickles softly down cheeks
of those who seek passion;
let it seep into skin
through dreams and visions;
through tingling seasons of trust,

dancing, singing
in a language
only he can comprehend;

hands pollinating these Spring flowers

without misgivings
on a sleepless, but bountiful,
unpaved, uphill
journey of hearts.



The Best Medicine

I once dreamt of palaces with balconies
and floors that sparkled like my earrings,
but I never smiled until I met him, and now
laughter fills every room of this quaint place.



I Have You In My Head

I bite my lip before I speak;
stumble, stammer over words
twist my hair around and ‘round
my finger, dreaming:

Here I am in that white dress
petals falling behind my train
and at the end of the path,

there is you.

Our eyes meet
an instant attraction.
I see my future looking back at me
when you tap me on the shoulder saying

Ma’am, are you ok?