MISTY MORN

Best day of the week

Driven mist billows from the buildings.

Weeping willows by the canal

dip green fingers toward the water

long, cold, lonely winter is over

MOON SHADOWS

Half moon horizon
south over the city
soft shaded silhouettes

rustle through the budding trees
Last day of winter
Forsythias ring out spring

with golden bells

Robins and cardinals

join the swelling chorus

DOUBTING THOMAS

Some wounds never heal

Sutured souls

wander

Sculpted scapes

Let me in

Let me in

your wooden land

Take me to your hidden place

Warm and real

Doubts embraced

Escape with me

Escape with me

Feel what only your love can reveal

PROVIDENCE SLEEPS

Paint the words in broad strokes across the page
backyard colors of mauve and gray
pull up close, scarlet and yellows,
dark and light and mist in between

Black holes in the center of galaxies
Oh so precious this perch we sow ourselves
Our own seed planted in the land
I'll keep my place

Brush broad the strokes of color,
ravage the palette of it's hues
I need to breathe
Nebraska and Wyoming
ghosts play upon the plains
across the valley of double rainbows
within the marsh of gurgling grass

We just moved into Pisces, overnight
with the snow and the cold
fish still under the ice
Repentance as spring
unburies the pine boxes of regret

Against the windmills of Dutch tulips
Iris orchid hearts
I huddle in my barricade of barbs and flowers
Violets and scarlet butterflies stretch their wings

Oblivion would be a blessing
rather than face the arbitrary truth
sometimes you have to face the wind
as much as it might bite your face

Stripped of all pretense
folded in desire
love unhandled
just there like a blanket

Star plagued sky
Easter morn lillies
like children past the limits of time
travel through the crucible of sublime