Poems are never just poems. They’re compensating for something. Here are the words I wish I had written. Here are a hundred words for “stay,” and a hundred more for “please.” Here is how I hold a pen. Here is how the pen holds me. Here are my thoughts, over-steeped in empty fervor. Here is nothing and everything all at the same time.

Now between writings I create a space
so could read in ease and not in stress
to fill me with things I had less
not let my mind be drowned by pace.

Now between writings I create a space
it lessens the hurry kills the stress
helps to see ways find new address
discover light in untrod recess.

Now between writings I create a space
it shows me the order clears the mess
I think now more write down less
my soul is happy to be out of the race.

Now between writings I create a space
it reinvents ways kills the stress
lets me to places I didn't access
of unseen tears unread happiness.

winter chills my bones
fiercer every season

her warmth i seek
with the prayer

O God, let her grow not older

When i snuggle into her
hear her lips' quiver

..........let him grow not older

Incessant, nervous breeze,
Gray mornings scudding in,
Branches, stark and thin,

Rain and flurried snow
Blended now, as if they didn't know
Which way the sky must go,
Warming now, but slow.

Bleak skies and weathered land
Beaten colorless by Winter's hand
Seem silent in these days of gray,
But I know fair Spring will have her say.

A neighbor rang, reporting her first robin;
Two trumpeters flew north without stopping,
And geese stand waiting on the icy pond,
Rememb'ring open water just beyond.

This is the time when old ones sigh,
Wondering will winter ever die?
And some decide that it is best
To turn toward eternal rest.

So left my friend this early spring
Before he heard the robins sing,
And I remain to live the winter out alone,
Awaiting green and coveting bird song.