Paper cuts on wrist linger:
     like trickles of pain,
     bearable to hold;
     with trickle of tears,
     little to be told.

Invisible abrasions:
    on skin so precious,
    patches of triumph;
    the battle rages on,
    wince at every sting.

Unnecessary bandages:
    don't elevate pain,
    hide struggles under;
    to embrace each scrape,
    takes more than courage.
    
Petroleum jelly helps:
    fingertips cover,
    dollops to ease itch;
    sometimes humans need,
    catalysis to heal.

This is how it starts,
A coincidental kiss–
And where it must end.

Stepping through
come along
with the light
spring paintings.

Time slips by
framed
with the vivid
saturated films.

The void you left
was filled
with the best
sad stories.

Your being
Is art.

No written poems,
Nor lyrical prose left unsung,
Such beauty confine.

Longing is the home,
As punishment to who steal,
The art you behold.

Life throws,
a filthy shade,
a crate of lemons,
a mess unmade.

Life makes,
a sailor great,
lemonade,
a near parade.

All at once,
Once and for all,
No things remain
The same
—The sane.

To run into your composure,
To take the worries away,
To hear your heart like a whisper,
That everything will be okay.

Not like this,
Not even a kilometer apart,
Not in this way,
No one can hardly look to stare.

Even if the streams decide to flow,
Even as the stars tremble,
Even when the rain shook cold,
Either of us is a safe place.

To house our feeding fire,
Not every flint sparks a flame,
Even we deserve the warmth,
You are never alone in the dark.

Her shoulder rose like the moon
above the black velvet of bolero jacket
She took his arm, his eyes--
An apogee
She took the room
in reverence

So slowly
shed the mountains
shed the light
hand to touch their wonder
Gazing after
her noiseless ascent
which never happened
while they watched....

Pearls—
roll against warmth
luxuriating offspring
cool encircling
contents iridesce
their energies’ warning:
Nothing quite that simple
Nothing quite that still

Nothing like the opulence
on the Proud Eve of catastrophe

Pearls—
caught in the lining
of what never happens the first time....

She heard them before she saw them
rip their orbits!
fission her universe!
in the mezzanine of the symphony hall
Pin ball in the Fun House
Bingo bounce
off—
the hardwoods of space....

Universal Theory of Scatter?
Even now I can still hear the clatter
of their round smooth souls
in the doorways of distant relatives

How could I know?
You would condemn me
to find them all?