The day awoke, not bright, content
With soggy greys, the light's been spent
In springtimes past, it will recall,
Though now it pulls its winter shawl
To shelter it from windy cold
Inside it sits, inside grows old-

I
   Could
                 Sleep
                                  Forever
                 ­                                           But
                  ­                                                                 ­     It's
                                                       ­                                                                 ­    Of
                                                          ­                                                                 ­                                              You              
                                               ­                                                                 ­                                                                 ­                                                                 ­                                     I'd
                                                             ­                                                                 ­                                                                 ­                                                                 ­                                                                 ­                                                                 ­             Dream

A mother must be many things
First, she is a vessel
Faring seas not so calm

Then she is a gardener
Shining sun with her smile
Willing flowers out of the dirt
And picking out those weeds
Spreading seeds with a hope
That doesn't wither when the snow falls

Then for some time she is an acrobat
Balancing high in the air
Carrying great weight on her shoulders
Still, the audience will never
See her falter

For a while she may be a critic
Stiffly accepting nothing
But the best

But ultimately she is herself an artist
Chiseling and shaping meticulously
With gentle hands

I know
For I have been
Hauled
And tended to
And carried
And sculpted
With great skill
And love
More abundant
Than the oceans she once sailed

That moment
Our hands
Touched

Linger

Your eyes
Bashful
Looked away
Stage left

(To what?
Believe me
I've studied
The still-frame
In my mind
Ever-aging)

Then
You pulled away
As did I
Because the world is a cold place
When it's just us two

A thicket of yellow light
Shone stubbornly through the cold
Outside my window
This morning
So
(Spent as an old dollar bill)
I stumble downstairs
And build my little worlds
Which will hide in the sky
And escape into the ground
Then I
(Empty as the air in your pockets)
Lay me down
As we both begin
To forget one another

Your letter came
Did I not tell you?
It's not as if
I've housed it
(little treasure)
In the pockets of my jeans
Or as if I pull it out
All the time
Because then it'd surely
Have been aged by my eyes
Which dauntlessly would
Explore the vast landscapes of your words
And, in each one it meets,
See everything you do
And feel
Surely if this were true
It would've been softened
Into tissue paper
By edacious fingers
Who can't help themselves
Because they think they're
Touching you

I'm worried I may
Have sold
My soul
Oh, dear
Only because of the way
You make me so happy
I could scream
At any given moment
And how
In the doorway
I kissed you
Shaky as a newborn calf
And your heartbeat
Was so strong -
I could feel it
All over you
Our breathing and touch
They were so soft
I thought the air conditioning
Might blow us away