Restoration

The flowers become more lucid,
stand sweeter through this lens;
lungs, still expanding
despite this hindered ticking
of a healing heart.

.

Your Last Night With Us

That night, the stars
stole breath from trees,
lost sheen to a moon
full and now endless
without you here.

.

Ten Years After

Even in my dreams, you rescue me;
follow my steps in tumultuous winds,
sweep me up just before the fall
holding the veil,
bridging the gap
between darkness

and the coming of light.

Romance is more than elegant words,
or glistening gems
wrapped in a pretty package.

It is birdsong in the morning,
a flush of color in the cheeks
when we awaken on rainy days-
sunshine in our eyes.

It is evening wonder, ten years later,
that look in your eyes that still
makes me look away
pink cheeks
that give me away

and pink roses just because.

Unprocessed

Perhaps
you stored your heart away
in a darkroom,
lost the negative
and forgot how to love?

.

Prophecy

We saw it vertically,
a sign, billowing love
in pastel colors, vivid
across Colorado skies.

.

When She Brushed Her Hair

Grandma, her hair,
her sweet scent
when she kissed us goodnight;
rosary clutched in her hand.

.

Blessed Awakening

Scent of coffee brewing;
cardinals singing me awake
as you peek in

with a sweet smile
that brings me morning.

.

Raining Stars

The morning after,
you fell aimlessly;
a shooting star
just before mourning
dawned

upon my newfound sadness.

.

Scene in the Park

He smiled,
feeding birds.
Bystanders thought it strange.

How absurd

that joy
has become abnormal.

.

Paper Cut

Let me get lost
in someone else’s words,
feel the pages
between my fingers;

my paper cut
bleeding poetry.

.

To Those Who Never Knew About Me

Another night of missing winks;
restless muse kicking up dust,

peeking through misty windows
overgrown fern in the sill,
‘round the dinner table,
sunflower centerpiece,
tea cups, pinky up
rose colored perceptions of life
as you know it,

but through my eyes,
he looks so different
than the smiling admirer-
the celebrated confidant.

I smile for you,
praying you never see
the side he revealed to me
and that you keep those memories
closer
than the Polaroids
in my imagination,
slowly fading
each time I re-read his last letter.

.

On Sunday Afternoons

I remember the scent
of just-mowed grass
following grandpa,
tugging his shirt,

stepping carefully
beside grandma’s new violets.

.