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.


Spice of Life

Sometimes, you have to escape
to a soft place where words are warm
like the scent of Grandma’s apple pie.


Love Letter #70: Remnants

I couldn’t feel the sun anymore
or anything yellow, since you,
except butterflies, fluttering
through strands of my hair,
tickling my senses,
stealing my attention,
like you always did.


When Empty is Full

I sat
collecting broken pieces
of you.

He rose,
He twirled

until the past spilled out.



Tea Party

Place settings for four,
Mom brought violets
for the centerpiece;
dolls in their Sunday best,
me, in pigtails
and my favorite dress.

His voice always did startle me.

Grandma brought glue
for the handle.

If only my heart was porcelain.


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.


While Watching You Sleep

Blue curtains shade the silhouette
of a cardinal come to call
sharing morning sun;

feathers finding sprinkles of light
like the way dew forms
on delicate petals
and falls upon standing stems
in the shadow of a willow.

I remember that look in your eyes
as we traded stanzas for kisses
upon lips in waiting

and each syllable, pronounced,

would lend a little simile
to love’s sentence.