pliant clay creases in your hands,
collected in the special place just off shore, below the waves.

good for the skin, it bakes onto flesh too easily in this heat,
and then comes off just as nicely.

you could shape it into anything, maybe an offering to the gods or a formless clump,

but you make a duckling out of it. Now it's sitting on the sill, staring out at the freshwater sea you birthed it from;

not from foam or anything special,
just the supple clay in the lake,

the cool respite of it, the way it allows life to make it so.

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, sister

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, Lisa

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.