starlight does not shine
on the shores of lake despair;
waters quell longing


. . .

golden curtains and hard wood floor
longing and lightning

I dream a dozen roses.

I want to hear your voice
I need to feel you

sitting next to me

i dream a dozen roses, beloved

and golden curtains touching the hard wood floor

I dream a dozen roses. little bird

your heart smiles,
angels and wings waiting

one spirit

I dream a dozen roses
white in color,
heart shaped
filled with hope

I dream a dozen roses,
are you still here
dear sister, Lisa?

surely

gentle spirit,
dear sister

darling of light

I dream a dozen roses

death takes over us,
with a kiss to break this spell;
the longest lover.

Feet and toes dipped into throws of milky waves and morning haze

and pelicans on a tiny isle,
and houses staggered over cliffs

along the shore, and seagulls drift
and hours wane, our legs yearn

to stand, to stretch, and we are swift
beneath the day, I want to burn.

The pilgrimage, across the rocks,
along the shore,
they walk with solace.

Twilight stretches long limbs as they waltz in a line to the edge of the world,

gazing into the depths of the waters to see whatever it is they have come for.

Then the sun slips down and stars make a path for them back to that place of beginnings.

God or that breeze, spoke out and I could feel the caress on my young face. An intimacy only longing could tell you.

Walking in the evening shade,
a figure there, it has not strayed
far from the path. It does depend
on shadows, lurking, it can blend

but sunlight enters through the trees,
reveals the cat, a stealthy breeze
that saunters over, brushes against
our legs, and now we have a little friend.

She sits on the stairs, stalks in the grass,
guards the street and greets those who pass;
a friendly thing, but we say goodbye,
until next we pass the creature by.