.
You know who and what you are to me.
...
The Twelfth of Never came.
Morning song, plainly the same.
New, and old, you walked toward me,
Back through Time. Teared memory
...
Monet sunset of neurotic twirled oranges' pink,
cathedraled blusterings of thunderheads high,
lighting, highlighting twilight grays' usurpation...
Did I not see, to envy weathered palettes...
...
What comments on 'Celtic Mother, Winter's Crone' poem?
In the time of dead leaves,
when wide-eyed things
frowned at sound,
...
Two pounds North wind
One cup Low Tide
One sky, lighting
One bayou, rippling
...
.
What are seasons but children's soft dreams, and
Sunrise, their opening eyes?
Seeing at a glance
...
Awe, in each one's delight
Of a night...not eternal, but
Bright. Not full moon, but
Soon...glow follows your
...
.
Suicide: Incense
.
Some women get roses.
...
Take me with you when you go.
Make room for my dreams
When we leave.
Bring your canvases, brushes...
...