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Morning Glory

Let Saturday spill through my window;
silhouette of daffodils reflecting yellow
through the shutters as I turn over
and his hand is missing from mine,

but the scent on his pillow remains,
leaving me inhaling the presence
of love and last night’s conversation.

We hesitate to let morning come,
but, oh, how the sun lends light to life;
the red glimmer from a cardinal
taps a love song upon the stained glass;
butterflies chasing daisies, swaying
even in the absence of an august breeze.

At six o’clock A.M., silence hums
and a far away melody strums
to my heart, soft, like his blessings;
like the words we whisper
when no one else is listening.

~

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Love Letter #47: Yellow Butterflies

I remember counting stars when I was small and then, suddenly, I was all grown up, watching one fall (the night you died,) but it seemed like a thousand came crashing down into the center of my heart.

Just when I began to doubt love, it blew in carrying me to a mountaintop where he knelt with a ring and a question that led me here, seven years later watching him sleep; stroking his hair in my 2:00 am insomnia.

You would have loved him; the way he smiles when I talk about you for hours in a rented RV on our anniversary as my tears spill on his shoulder. He makes me laugh until my stomach hurts; until I forget why I was crying, how my eyes light up when he walks in the door and how he holds my hand, even when we are sleeping.

You would hate it here today; the pause of trees, the frightened hum of nature bowing to the unknown and the faint twinkle of stars amidst an unstable moon, the earth trembling under bare feet as flowers sway in the weep of disturbing winds,

but, in the summer, yellow butterflies follow my every step and a sky full of fireflies reminds me that you still bring the light.

~for Eloy. I miss you

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Déjà vu

Your name was on my lips
before I knew your eyes
and the way they melt into mine,

so that I must turn away,
blushing,
pink as the roses
hiding behind your back,

soft, like your heart.

We began this language of ours
with two notebooks behind a tree
exchanging syllables and glances

connecting the dots

between stars
and a jealous June moon

wondering why the deja vu’
beneath a weeping willow
and how our hands
seemed to have held before;
mine gently wrapped into yours,

belonging,

like words
inside a poem.

~

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Love Letter #46: Secret Chord

Footsteps echo the dance
of a harpist’s chords;
psalms falling like secret stars
as yesterday’s rusted tears
sculpt this silhouette;
soften this heart
into a puddle of adoration

swirling like pretty poetry
bowed at your feet.

I thought love was an arrow;
a pain that stole last breaths,
but, oh, the realization of you!;

a light that illuminates
from one beautiful name
dropping me to my knees,
one voice that whispers
through my right hand,
spreading an infectious love

in syllables of solace-
this pen, leaking red;

your words in my mouth.

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When Summer was More than a Season

I can almost see her
at the clothesline,
pinning up her heart

with each pair of corduroys;
each sweater sewn with love.

I bake her cookies;
add an extra teaspoon of vanilla,
another pinch of brown sugar,
but there is something missing
from the ingredients;

her kiss
upon my cheek.

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Love Letter #44: Severed Merger

You left my heart
on the boardroom floor
Friday, June 23rd at 12:40

just after your lunch settled,

you skillfully drafted
this unsettling letter.

I feel like a broken contract,
and oh, my spirit, shattered,
falling, like the expectations
I built like blocks in your image.

I made you tall, but the idol
came crashing down

and I wondered if you ever noticed

my eyes are the color of yours;
my timid smile, this face,
so easily erased from your mind
as if I never existed,

Oh, but I do

and these broken pieces
can be put back together
by a carpenter

and a love that never fails.

~

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Against This Present Darkness

Eyes rise and fall
with simple shading of clouds
upon a face;
a bowed head
seeking shelter
from raging tempests;

from love’s ache.

Night comes quietly
like snowflakes in winter;
like the whisper of psalms
​ beyond candlelit curtains.

I keep your words with me
soft syllables of grace,
sweet shelter

in the midst of my storm.

~