The scorching sun
Burns his every hope
Then the moon comes by
To soothe his soul

Because it pains her
To watch him ablaze
By every burning flame
That always comes his way

She is a willing silent companion
To his every woe
Even if she would fall apart
It is him she worries of most

Waves speak
to the shore
in rippled verse
scattered shell
strands of kelp

in the sand
each visitor
inscribes a story
sandpiper, wigeon, crow
raccoon, otter, coyote

I read each one
as I write my own

collarbones kissed with lace ,
a sweet song nibbling at my earlobes,
falling into safety nets
and blessings being whispered like
prayers in the night time.

this is love.
this is being alive.
this is being aglow.

Don't worry,

I've been here before,

lying in canopies
of 'where'd you go' and
'what have I done?"

I'm not immune to love-fall
or love-hope
   or even the fall-out -

and there's no
modesty to my
afflictions

don't worry,
I've been here before
and I'm not willing
   to
     wait
       in
          hesitation.

It will always hurt,
the pain will never go away.

But.
Knowing what is known now,
Knowing the hope given for the future,
replaces some of the hurt, with hope.

Memories are never to be forgotten,
yet the past is the past.

Dwelling on what can't be changed,
hinders the continuation of life.

Picking up the baggage will take some time.
Moving on all together will still be the hardest thing to accomplish.

But when the final bag is put on the truck,
and all that has to be done is to drive away,
I will smile, reach over to the dial, and turn on the car radio.

As I pull out of the driveway, the radio will be at its highest,
because looking back, I'll be able to say,
That the music had never faded away.