The Symmetry of Stars

We come together, like a poem

the cadence of us;
our breaths,
our heartbeats colliding,

silhouettes imitating
the swirl of your brush
tapering rough edges
until only softness remains

as night unfurls
‘round a waning moon.

Oh stars!,
you define him and I;

you feed the famine,
quell the worries
lying somber thoughts

into the slumber
of our lashes.



Tuning My Harp Strings

May I strum
to my heart’s content,
my fingers finding delight
in the muse of your eyes?

Come closer, read my lips
as whispers form stanzas
from the curve of your smile;
the poise in your posture
inspiring new notes.

Let strings soothe waves;
scent of jasmine, titillate senses
as twilight dance of stars
tempt a coy half moon

and when morning comes
let my strum love sleepy lashes,
carry tune to your feet
like sun to flowers,
feeding light.

There’s a symphony in my head,
but the syllables
are scrambled

like my mind
when you look at me,

catch my gaze looking back
as if we just met,
joined lines and pauses,
lines and pauses

and fell
head over heels
into a poem.



Sensory Perception

It’s not that I love sleep,

it’s just the way your foot
turns circles around my ankle,
tickling my senses

and your fingertips
brush gently
across my cheek
when we say goodnight;

your hand,
searching for mine,
taking refuge

under my pillow
for the night.



Love Letter #16: to Grace


Seven daffodils
line the place where we met
You love me
like they love the earth;

the sun
that swells petals yellow.


If stars could speak,
bleed white letters,
spell your name in clouds;

your name,
gilded, adorned,
by an adoring moon.


Oh the light
when morning comes!

Your presence sways
in six o’clock a.m. breezes;
flows through corpuscles
all the way to a battered heart.


Through the waters,
there are ripples
that dance your miracles,
pour possibility
upon unsuspected flowers

and isn’t it amazing
how grace finds rest
in souls that cry rivers?



Too Many Fireflies


When you are small,
the world is massive;
tiny hands
chasing lightening bugs,
fingers clasping in prayer,

borrowing faith
from the pocket
of grandma’s sweater.

Glitter in her hair,
caution in her step,
she only knows
fairytale endings
gone bad,

broken heart pangs
from a boy
she thought she knew

from a tender moment
and feelings, too often
worn on a sleeve.

No one ever said
she would have to fly
one day,

but, she never crawled,
just leaped through life.
searching for just one constant

and she found him
wrapping her up like a princess.

So much for happy endings.
He covered the whole sky
with those fireflies-

too many to see the stars.




Monday Mornings

Fondness is a tremble; a quiver of lips
like the shaking of an apple tree,
sweetness raining red upon fragile hearts.

When the door closes in the morning,
his scent still fills your head;
last night’s whispers still lingering
as stars inside the lace of your pillowcase.



Buried Treasure

I sat on a rock,
the sound of waves
against a submissive shore,

and I still remember
the way the sun caught his hair
and bounced off of his tender smile
that morning

as he reached for the sand dollar
I had been dreaming of
since last summer.