
she asked me to forgive her–
but there was nothing to forgive

she asked me to forgive her–
but there was nothing to forgive

under unspoken words
tucked between actions
buried amid bitter brambles–
truth hides

after taking your image,
i feared you would wither and die–
but upon turning with a final glance,
you simply smiled and waved goodbye

you are nothing but black pepper flakes
circling above me against blue skies,
but i see you and i hear you and i feel your soaring freedom

a soft baby blue blanket,
the echoes of childhood laughter,
a generous slice of hope and love and peace,
and the vision of two mated mallards
on the marsh in early spring

while strolling with the pup,
we greet the delicate forsythia like long lost friends

i heard the ducks quacking,
i saw a rabbit run into the brittle brush–
the pear-shaped lights in a neighboring tree
guided me along the path by the marsh
and a sharp crescent called out in a casual moonlight greeting

the beauty of fading beauty

dry reeds drink the March sun
with earnest and honest abandon

i’ve been remembering their favorite flowers
and how they laughed
and how they smelled
and how they loved
and grew angry
and were unbendable
and wonderfully flexible
and what they said
with heavy accents
and what they grew in their gardens
and the plums they picked from trees
and swiss chard from the dark earth
and how protected i felt in their embrace
and how i thought they would all live forever
and now i dream about them
and think about them
and miss them all with an ache in my trembling heart
that stretches out into infinity