You are a novel
gathering dust on my shelf
but not because I don’t want to read
but because I’m afraid
to turn the page,
afraid of how you’ll end

Other people wish for sun
For cloudless days filled with fun
I, instead, wish for rain
In hopes that it will take my pain
The rain, it seems, has magic powers
That transfer down in peaceful showers
It fills me up, I overflow
It sees I'm full and then it goes
Where it goes I do not know
But this I know: that it will show
Sometime when I am close to death
And in my pain it gives me breath

You are allowed to guffaw at me, considering what came before this.



(sonnet #MMMMMMDCCCLXXXI)


Snow.  Likeas if what, eh? mists' fragile veil
Haunts gathring darkness as white caps from hence
That thought of April in the wings, suspense
Put back to sleep with frozen kisses' scale
Of niceness was't?  Rain's tripping through t'avail
Culled naked lawns in yellowed Death, which thence
Are tucked 'neath that chill coverlid, and whence
Straps on its boots 'gainst crunching forth, hope pale?
Nah.  It is Janry still, and violets' tour
Shall not be guaranteed until the dew
Once more rests silver on green carpets fer
Soft light and warmer hours lost under blue
Skies nary iciness skulks in as twere.
Tonight we'll shiver, glad the furnace knew.

14Jan18c

We were both at distance
I couldn’t  see you,
Until
I heard you sing,
I cried, so beautiful
A song I will never remember,
But know the feeling
I try to remember
Eres tú

I woke up in tears,
To remember would be a dream
To hear your song
To cry
To see
Eres tú