There is anger dripping from my eye
and it tastes like salt.
It seasons the pain,
intensifies rage.
A plateful of emotions...
yet no one’s at fault

We sit here in this mess,
A line between us thickened
I reach over to make your burden feel less
The air between us sickened

I feel the warmth radiating over this line
suddenly turning cold as a winters night
I reach over for your hand pushed aside
You scream deadly with a silent fight

Through an open window, I hear
      the Big Thompson's steady music
drifting up from the valley below.

May breezes and gentle rains
     coax the snow-capped peaks
to surrender their alabaster cloaks
      downslope into gathering streams.

Silhouetted by light from the waxing moon,
      a cinnamon bear lopes along water’s edge,
pauses for a draught and meanders on.

A bull elk newly coifed with velvet antlers
        folds his legs beneath its belly
and kneels into grasses beside a tranquil pond.
        while the Big Thompson rushes on.

Spring beauties, calypso orchids and geraniums  
       shake off their winter's sleep and
dot every vagabond trail and verdant hill
        while fresh new leaves adorn the aspen boughs.

The Big Thompson inexorably presses on
        bound for rendezvous with time and space
and tumbles into the always patient sea.

© 2017 by Robert Charles Howard

You fill me to the brim
Like coffee on a Sunday morning.
Ive always loved that about you, you never gulped, you never rushed.
You paused inbetween, inhaling the brewed coffee beans.
You dipped into the cup with love and wonder,
Always took little sips to make the feeling last longer.