This breath I hold,

You’ve held before -

And you, like the wind,

Will allow me to soar.

This love is warmth,
It is the expanding blossom,
It is slowly opening your eyes―
Awakening to the shining sun―
And seeing brilliance clearly

My mediums change
Along with my mind.

I loved the child you were.
Did you fulfill that life you sought?

I keep finding
Magic
In all its hidden places.

You wore dresses
And sang even when you'd
Forgotten all the words

The moon makes me
Wait
For her smile

The silence is incredible
But never permanent.

Oh, here is the thought
The word
The idea
The inspiration of
My love for you

The desk,
and the second floor window
with the view of the people
passing by, passing by,
brought rain,
and words,
and the patent passage of time.

I burned through the pages
Of my childhood dreams
Out on the rusted wheelbarrow

Little red squares
With little white letters
Begging the question
With every approach,
We op?

Muddled thoughts
Muddled pages--
Winter sky
In this Texas heat--
The leaves are blooming
Or perhaps they've just
Forgotten how to fall--

I've become accustomed
To the way the water tastes,
The open sky,
And the wind pulling loose my hair,
But not the distance.
No, not the distance.

I wonder if you made it out of the fog.
I am still waiting for your words.
Keep running through Rhode Island.
Bring me the beauty of the world.

You are forever nostalgic
For your past future self.
This is not where you were going.
Never how you thought you'd end up.

Spring never sprung
And winter wouldn't come
Which just leaves
You
You
You
Here in the heat

Five hundred sixty seven point three
is the number of miles
between you and me.
(But our hearts have
never been closer.)

The constant relief I feel,
With each breath I inhale,
Is like the comfort I have
When I hear your voice.

Out you pour like sand
Going through the pinched glass
That narrows before the escape.
Woman that I loved
Who traced and marveled
At the many lines that divided the world.
Can you trace new lines
To where you are going?
Can you draw a border
Around your lovely soul?
Chef of scorched pancakes
(The only way I like them),
Christmas fudge,
And summer sandwiches,
You filled me with sweets
That reflected your sweet soul.
Drawer, painter, beauty maker,
Your hands crafted
Many wonderful things.
Your hands.
Your crooked hands.
Bent, pointed, strong.
Can those hands now
Grasp these last edges?
And can you remember
Me now?
Can those eyes trace the lines
Of my face and see me?
Can you know me
And recognize
How much I have loved you?