a smooth stone skipped once, twice
would there be a third kiss more
how that sun beam followed
each ripple's glittering diamond eye
inverting, reverting that perfect flight
to plunge into this day's memories, hallowed
watched by flying fish and twisting mermaids
holding out fin and fingers to touch a miracle
now sunk to rest in depth's lobster dream
following one, two, more, in bottom lines
marching to an unknown destiny of instinct's embrace

-cec

cloud cover thickens this emotional porridge
realizing distant leagues between letters
written on vistas vast and open prairie
with piled stones of a fettered heart

your silence bespeaks these iconic symbols
atmospheric visions, while I stay rooted
a fantasy and sage brush cumulonimbus
in Nazca Lines, shared love, lives muted

how many years and weathered months
as careless rivulets move each grain
and mountains crumble to their sea mounts
with moist remembrances of loss retained

-cec

these winds have no chords tonight
drifting over a prairie of loneliness
knotting oozing thoughts of nostalgia
into tumbleweeds of emptiness

weaving darkness follows dusk
as incomplete eyes silently search
canyon phantasma in moonlit cascade
there fairy wisps of fog bank lurch

astride a hairy back enchanted mule
rides this only-monkey's whimpering
Shh-e, Titania, waits there for you
hidden among musk rose whispering

go falling upon thorny-hairy eared cactus
as time does stream disjointed desire
in this wasteland of a singular tactus
caught in swayed affections of heart's briar

-cec

this next month you will be dead
again, one year so far, far away
though still within this sanguine heart
you stare your love as always

your colored pencils drew an arrow
pierced a hole, one deepest yet
a life of colors formed its white tip
searing memories within its depth

recalled in fields where wild-roses sway
there catch past scent of once bouquet
cacoethes tears reside within the morrows
in dear reveal with eternal cheeks of sorrow

-cec

yesterday with you in
March, the cherry
blossoms - please
don't miss the little
flowers in your
search for a more
giving thing because
my sweetest love,
there is none. only
the children know
this, but I think
we are all children
after the rain.