I wrote to you in broad bold letters.
I wrote it on a tree.

You know the one, remember
—it called to us from the middle of the garden.

Sassafras: our secret token.

Winter's stillbirth is soon upon us,
and our placement in the sun in peril.

But I have whispered it all to stones
now ****** into the sea.

Remember the tree, and pray I live long enough to dream in its hollow.

freckled cheeks / soft decibels

dress wearing
wine taster
dreamcatching
manhunter

an attraction
to green and yellow
an aversion to blue

an imprint of her muted form
under a name that hides her

she often lies there
in a shimmer
a bit of a sleeping beauty

in the pleasing shape
of Wisconsin / Illinois

whose charms
are revealed
like arcane secrets
only to those
with patience,
persistence,
and a lack of proximity
to heavy machinery

I write by closing my eyes and scribbling on a napkin. Then I flip it upside down and whatever it initially looks like becomes the subject of my thoughts...

I dream in doodles
Now it all makes sense

~
Storms make grey the sea
And erode the surface of the shore

Cold resentful icebergs
Outside my window
A field of sinking liquid caskets
Closing in on me

I hear the sound
Of toy pianos underwater
Remnants of their music keep
Washing up on achromatic beaches

Songs that made love shine
Have fallen into shipwreck
A missing charter's rusted hull
Casts the one color heaven allows

Storms make grey the sea
And erode the stages of the sun
~