beyond this night
of china plates
of fragile whispered dreams
teams of unseen verses
dot the sky

take me there
the morning
carried higher still
the lowest branch
where evergreen made home

burst my heart
with longing
gratitude for just –
tis all I know
of living
but to love

lock the gate
and clip the wick
tell them I was lost
found my way
rewritten –
a golden sycamore
– resurrected map
while I was sweeping
up the yard

made my way
found my way
somewhere still they listen
somewhere yet
– a violin at dusk

feed my cause
bleed these hands
mark my days to mayfly
but gather not
to sheets
of almost done

brush against
the aching –
where scattered now to names
– gentle souls
tethered by my own

carry me
the winter
to the hiding place of love
pick the tiny flowers
tie their hands
gentle as a breeze to bring
essence to a song –
baskets left for filling
on the porch

shatter me
the eastern ridge
wash for me an ocean
ten thousand silver fins –
a carousel
build for me
a nothing more
than places I have loved
but leave me not
to wish upon
a star already sailed

coming back
I swore one time
to find another way
but still I dream
beyond my dreams
recalled

. . .

Author’s Note: Sometimes words refuse to let me sleep.
I stir against the silence, writing in the dark.