If I were a tiny sprout of grass in the Garden of Eden,
would God have noticed me and mentioned to the
Angels how He admired my smooth
stem and the emerald green of my blade?
...
It is not in the goodbye
where my pain lies...
the hurt of the anticipated parting
lives in the sweet agony of
...
In the early hours
I whisper my secrets to you
my lips against your temples
...
I found it
A lone feather on the lawn...
the evidence that a greay dove
was here, earlier
...
your black heart…
the vortex to which I
drift
...
A girl with a red coat walks against the wind,
her shoulders hunched.
She carries the world around her like a cloak.
Her footfall is uncertain, the one in front of the other
...
Like sand washed by the tides
over and over again,
or mist rolling into a valley…
...
You have a sensual mouth
its fullness defining your
bold outlook on life and
concurring with the
...
The girl at the window
looks out
she sees nothing...
...