She leaves me
with secret flowers

each has
a broken heart

and purple petals
for me to hide

and memories
I can't ....

She's an alphabet artist
she paints in words,

from a palette of adjectives,
nouns and verbs,

the landscape she finds
in the folds of her mind

she exhibits in volumes of verse.

We danced toward
each other's wounds

with gentle step
and touched inside

and now the bleeding
has resumed

and all this blood
is hard to hide.

if a forensic
          scientist
fresh from
a crime scene
          were to
investigate
our woods
         & forests
would they
find blood
spattered
         patterns  
scattered over
chestnut trees
in deepest
      Mississippi,
a crimson
            history,
years of
          brutal toil
embedded in
the soil,
where children
played only
             the day
before,
perhaps if we
      all could see
we might tread
a little differently,
         investigate
our own hearts
meticulously

Fool
Lighted
A
Match
Every day in my heart