plans for evermore ~

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how is it I’ve forsaken
my plans for evermore –
my want for more than waffles
another sunday morn
papers spread around me
with no one to obsess
o’er how I kiss
how I take my tea
where the lines
have faded now
who will mind the lawn
and who has sworn to memory
the place
I dreamed about
when all the rest
is scattered
none shall know for sure
where I kept my heart
how I loved

. . .

promise I surrendered ~

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from a distant place
we wondered
to find this place
(we are)
tempting fate
each time your eyes
meet mine
wherever I was destined
tis only this
recalled
familiar (as a breath)
another place
and time

whatever hurts
these lessons leave
(promise I surrendered)
a store of dreams
unburdened
by my bed
carried my confession
to let (as you would have)
the truth I dared betray
to words
I left unsaid

. . .

predictions of a jealous moon ~

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sometimes
i get busy
sometimes a day
or maybe two
pass before
i realize
i’m missing thoughts
of you

there’s been no change
in weather –
predictions
of a jealous moon
moved to retribution
by shadows come
to bloom

the sun has dipped
beyond the trees
where even now –
twilight glows
as fear
remit by silence –
grace
in letting go

. . .

wherever you ~

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til I’ve forgotten
how to breathe –
let this be my one
reserve of truth
the last I knew
another way would come
a shallow breath
neglected –
forsaking all for this
e’en now my heart
is sated
by my name
upon your lips
sassafras and berry
vines to draw me near
frozen creeks
fields of winter hay
morning waits
whatever dreams
are mine to understand
wherever you –
I will find a way

. . .

come on ~

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had I days
left to squander –
time to give away
the right of grace
sorrows broken free
from everything we wanted
everything we changed
where comes my love
with promise
e’er to be –

a dying wish
a bitter taste –
forgiveness I let lie
negated by the winter
some solace
given here
shall I wait
forever –
this purpose to
receive
another
one more life
to hold you near

. . .

fancy ~

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The fancy things I like are nine hundred count sheets. Tea cups with matching saucers. And the things I love that aren’t fancy at all: old aprons and hankies. Dirt roads and dirt floors. Forsythia bushes, hardback books of poetry. And I like other things less than those but still; the sticky remains at the bottom of the cherry cobbler dish. The way cats sometimes run sideways. The presence of a rainbow in a puddle of oil. Jelly jars. Pine needles. Wash on a line. The tick-tock of clocks, the blue of the neon sign outside an old motel still open. The fact that there is an old motel still open. ❤

the only way I knew ~

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from these pages
what is written
will become
of all I am –
words I thought would hold
what’s left of you
from these stories
might you learn
of some other way
I loved –
breath that was
the only way I knew

tears to flood
an ocean –
I sailed into the sun
carried by my longing
with a wish
to understand
the whys for which
you stayed away –
longer lest I grieve
days I rose
to curse
these empty hands

. . .

beyond the fence ~

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I’ve not much left
to offer –
no farm beyond the fence
golden trinkets
stashed beneath my bed
no aged
name to proffer
or treasure more than this
a hand to hold
a place to lay you
down

I’ve not the will
to suffer –
faith to see you
gone
twilight burned as
fate into the barn
no destiny to barter
give me yours
I’ll give you mine
breath to share
a place to lay you
down

. . .