A Sunday night
weather-beaten hoodie, my cotton nest
please cover me up, so that I may rest
Warm-soup-belly
Glass of bourbon, not too much
ice so hot it burns to touch
Melancholy walks
dilly-dallying, so as not to end so soon
a gorgeous request, just to save some room?
December sunset
Parking lot star-gazing and an evening meal
Fresh cut balsam; carts with crazy wheels
Warmth
Breath upon skin; a lingering stare
Breath, an icy plume held present in the cold, thin air
Discovering
Nothing is really something after all...
and then back to nothing; rise and fall
Salt
the purest white of truth--coarse, healing, real
in the wound; a lover's solitary appeal
Waking moments of a girl, age thirty
"let the golden days begin...."
when I might find that which I actually intend
To be, To withhold, To make light
who I am, what I have, when I ache
music listens to me and never hesitates
And, at long last, I am found on the longest winter's day
feeding with my soul's bread so that water-foul can live
their receiving this love...I have so much left to give
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