There must be more than this.
More than what lies
beyond the deep,
blue sky.
Where stars condense,
and collide.
Where glalaxies spin,
and multiply.
Where life blooms,
but never dies.
There must be more
than what lies
at the end
of an ordinary life.

I recall
her lost smile

like a sketch
I draw from my memory

and those days in the rain
laughing, drops

hitting the creek
slow as a dream

until a shadow
fell across the mirror

brushing her hair
in a dark room

like a honeycomb
of sad bees

and double entendres
two lifetimes ago.