
the petals were collected,
until a storm gust scattered them
like soft, pink diamond dust
dancing with the wind

the petals were collected,
until a storm gust scattered them
like soft, pink diamond dust
dancing with the wind

rainbows after storms
ice cream cones on hot afternoons
irises in the rain
peach whiskey on ice
kisses from the pup
green beans with sweet onions
old fences and buttercups


he was neither wild nor free,
and still-
i saw clearly his spirit of flame and fire

last night i dreamt that i walked into your house
lightly touching the objects on the table,
and realizing that you were sleeping softly in an upstairs open loft,
i took in the sound of your steady breath,
letting myself out of your house
and out of my dream–
wistfully satisfied

the earth claimed us,
the sun grew,
the storm washed,
the wind dried,
and the earth will claim–
once again

there is always sunlight ahead–
even through the thickest, darkest forest,
the morning will break through the night





fragrant tiny lillies
flowers inside and flowers outside
this book: Charleston: A Bloomsbury House & Garden
by Quentin Bell & Virginia Nicholson
mountain views on southern porches
fragile mushrooms in the rain



with them,
i remember who i am

the years travel forward,
while friendships grow–
ever strong and tall
toward our future suns