Last Dance

The light shifts, flickers,
spins its web ‘round her tresses,
blushes whispers between them;

lips connecting the dots,
pulling close the tendrils
that encompass sanguine attempts
at something that looks like love,

but tastes a little like regret
sprinkled with powdered puffs
of last night’s perfume

to make impossible taste sweet.


After the Tears Run Out

I hear myself echo,
and dreams
seem to slip through my fingers
like sand did
when we were smiling.

Late, when I let my hair down;
when feelings fall,
lips form your name-
the only name
that touches me;
moves mountains,
sways treetops

with a sigh of wind.

I can’t take a step
without the calm of you;
the tenderness of your grace
upon limp shoulders
when my head falls
upon yours.

Sleep comes
after the tears run out
but morning
is like your smile;

through the length
of my tresses
assures my heart
that your love shines,
dresses my cheeks,
seeps into every crevice;

your love,

never fails.




You never bring me flowers
when green fades to brown,
crumbling under my feet,
remnants of a Summer love,

burnt orange
and sad as September



Love Letter #56: to Fireflies

It was one year to the day he left
in the coolness of March.
I waited
for a star to fall like it had that night.
I needed another sign from God
that he was somewhere warm;
somewhere sweeter

than the wildflowers we walked through
in that same field where I sat,

then, came something softer
than a constellation
but, as close as a whisper,
with wings.

My head in my hands,
it all came back;
the song, the lyric
of him;

the smile on the lips of his last words,
echoing like lost syllables in damp air,

but then, this flickering thing,
it multiplied, divided-
like stars,
exploding in the Heavens
and there I was
under a skyful of light

wondering how could I
have ever doubted


On Days Without Adjectives

I pinned my dreams
on an old clothesline
like mismatched socks

waiting for the right mate.

Night after night,
it was lonely, except for stars
leaning in to kiss my face
under a waning twilight
and a side-slung moon.

I stayed until dawn,
just to see blossoms
and speak to birds
about how you never listened
to my words,
because they didn’t rhyme

but my lips; my cheeks
are much pinker now
without you.


The Frailty of October

I find tranquility
in flowers
and forgiveness

in a field of constellations

when every eye is sleeping
and the only sounds I hear
are the whistle of midnight trains,
fingers typing bittersweet goodbyes,

and the echoes of a frail moon’s violin
strumming the last chords of October.


~prayers go out to the victims of the Vegas shooting and their loved ones ❤


Love Letter #52: Turn the Page

As that door swung open
at 2:00 am,
(always my prophetic hour,)
I knew these bare feet
would find wildflowers;

fingers wrapped in the warmth
of his,
this heart –
skipping beats

within the sound of syllables

a collective sigh
of moon awaiting sun.

A first book is birthed in pain;
love spilled upon pages one
through forty-eight,
hidden in quivering pen
by the flicker of a candle,

but, turn the page,
and there is a light!;
a pirouette of words

a kaleidoscope;
a skyful of enamored stars
and the joyful prance of souls

joining the letters
of love’s sentence