Love Letter #71: The Vine

You and I are seamless souls,
but, he is in the midst
of our spirits, our breaths;

the vine that holds these branches.

Let these fruits ripen-
not far from the tree;

winds carry sweetness;
sprinkle stars he strewn,

like the union of us.


When Empty is Full

I sat
collecting broken pieces
of you.

He rose,
He twirled

until the past spilled out.



Shout (From the Mountain Top)

Should I take
the heart of me,

lay the broken pieces out;

show you
how he put them together
with just a touch

of grace.



I’ve worn a path
in circles
‘round begonias,

gone in limbo
under clotheslines;

an angel
escorting me
through the gate.



Beatitudes III: Blessings

Lie down your burdens upon a rock,
beside a brook in the green of summer.
Leave weeping on my shoulders
watering lilies waking in fields of sun,
and in the evening, when sorrow comes,
toss it into breeze of willow trees and come
watch constellations swirl the atmosphere;
leave you upright and shining like new gold.



Beatitudes II: Grace

Determined to move mountains,
a miniscule thought was fed;
a manuscript created
from a story in your head.

A beautiful wildflower,
once called a simple weed,
sprouted up from only
a tiny mustard seed.

Love; the powerful weapon
that tears down the highest wall
cracks open the hardest hearts
lends softness to the fall.

flowers from weeds, they blossom
born from amazing grace
in a potter’s hands, molded, shaped,
and displayed in a shiny new vase.



To be a daisy
in a field of lilies of the valley
flowing like a ballerina’s skirt,
fragile as moondust;
lovely as a May morning.

To have loved and lost,
to fall like a flower,
is to awaken to sun;
bathe in arms of morning.

To curtsey to stars;
bend, but not break,
is to run against the wind
and find a river
in the middle of a mirage.