small –

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As I was looking for something else today, I happened upon this photo….and the quote, “life isn’t a station to arrive at, but a means by which we travel” came to mind.

Though it surely seemed like many miles from granny and grampa’s house to the store, it wasn’t at all. Let us forever remember the little things as big….life as way more than we expected. The picture – little steve, sis, and hannah making the trek back to the store from granny’s…..remembering for me a path they never realized was so blessed. ❤

pull against the moon ~

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howcouldyouknow

for what
was life becoming –
when for this one I yearned
a breath between forevers –
made sweet the souls
return

a kiss
I scarce remember
once cooled upon my lips –
saved into my being
as proof of love
like this

time rests
beneath the cedars –
and pulls against the moon
resolving all we dared
to touch –
yet leaving way
too soon

. . .

destiny to steal ~

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longing

so much of me
some you don’t know
– poems I have written
on my soul
I can’t tell you
I won’t tell you
how it is
I’ve surrendered you
remembered you
another day –
again

so much
and who am I
to remind you what is real
of moments come
this destiny to steal
wait for me
at twilight
out beyond the fence
I will show you then
how I love

. . .

gather me ~

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7a30a16f398ad6807f606c78888d22a7-1693198480.jpg

loosen every season
on all we’re meant to find
– another life
beyond this sweet refrain
let me rest
against your heart
and wake within your dream
move my soul
to wonder
why we came

pacify my longing
share with me
your breath –
linger
lest your touch
become my own
wrap your love
around me –
whisper soft my fate
gather me to memories
of home

. . .

lines I never wrote ~

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openbook2

from time to time
I reminisce
o’er lines
I never wrote
truths I dared not share
tho no less true
longing spilled to pages
meant for gentle eyes –
an open heart
with space enough
for two

worthless rhyme
you know me now –
with nothing
left to say
poems stacked in boxes
cupboards tight
love betrayed to silence
grieves the dying word –
an empty page
and evermore
to write

. . .