her ring sits on the mantlepiece
worn thin on one side
that dull warm yellow
that gold sometimes takes on

i remember it cutting into my hand
as she held it tightly as we shopped
it was bright and shiny then

she used to wear it on her  longest finger
after dad left us, she left it off for awhile
and then wore it on the other hand

it was tight on her workworn hands then
she took it off again before she went into
this last home, but kept it locked in a security draw

now it sits on the mantlepiece, waiting
for me to find a safe place for it
for it is the little bit of my mother's spirit
that will one day be part of my son's  wedding ring,

Oh, my sister!
No one loves me
I am sorry...
Do not remember our laughs

خواهر من
هیچکس مرا دوست ندارد
...من متأسفم
خنده هایمان یادت نباشد

I guess
I'll go back to poetry
now that
the real thing is ending

It's hard to lose touch
when you finally found it
hard to imagine
being content
staring at computer eyes
and typing can never
replace her flesh and blood hand

yet the reality is we must part after meeting
so brief the moment
so unsweet the parting
I may write a poem full of tears
I may tear this **** keyboard apart

trying to make it all real once more
her feel her heart her love for me.

As I take in this beautiful confusion
November's breath is but an illusion ,
misconstrued as something permanent ,
simply frost longing to paint the firmament
A homeward trail , sugar glazed southern
pastry begging for black coffee , chips of
black walnut and pecan , golden apple
stained glass fragmenting portals to nirvana
and beyond
Happy sun , frosted window masterpiece -
Wednesday
Tall , ***** loblolly knights guard this wooded
passageway
Nosey , noisy ravens giving away my location
Aromatic , seedling evergreens to tempt my
imagination* ...