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(am I) Windswept

Have I written too much
about about the birds and trees–
do you doubt my sincerity
when I talk about the weather–
you and your calm, and
me on the edge
of coming to life

april 30 water.jpg

Perhaps all the new words are taken
and my pen– relegated
to thrift store fodder
rearranged and painted up
picturesque
and succinct

On the edge I’ve been sitting on
since then
my own rough edges
you take notice of
are nothing
compared to what is inside–
the part I show to no one

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You didn’t see me anymore
and I started deleting–
rubbing myself
out of existence
one day sweet–the next sour
a warning would have been nice

Left on a shelf
like a single bookend–
we aren’t lovers
and we aren’t friends.
Is she as danced out as I?

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From where I stand – stalwart
I see eternity. The
evening becomes you
and when the evening
becomes you–
you are everywhere
the moon is

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Monday

sunrise June.jpg

Monday could be a drudge
a gray, murky day, where
I play catch-up
the gallons of coffee
reminding me I have work piled to the ceiling
with no time to think of your eyes
or how you touched my hand
once-
Monday could be dull-
or
I could look out at this fresh day
the breeze ruffling my blouse
slipping through the weave
caressing my skin
and I could be reminded of this gift-
that I woke
and stepped out
and saw the moment
that the sun kissed the lake
Monday
could be mine

 

Show-stopper

Sunset and leaves

I had so much riding on this day
my mind in too much thought
each sip every step all my hopes
just to purchase another hour of life
the way it should be lived

It is a pendulous evening
heavy air at eight
the lines nearly erased now
between night and day
the horizon breaking out
with its glittery evening show

A slice of this sky I count on
my doubt and injuries wavering
I take one step, and then another
every hope winning out over the past
and its mercenary plans