if he is such an angel
then why do i see him
in my nightmares?

i know he rules over
sweet dreams and
fantasies, but he is
not in my dreams.
only in my memories.

so the moon rises
another night,
and i say to him,
hello there,
the angel from
my nightmares.

my dark waters stir
turning the moon's placid reflection
into a chaotic dance of broken light
echoes of churning
deep water
saturate
and raise your foreboding laughter
up and over the old well's lips
but you will not awaken me
to burn this nightmare into my core
rather I shall sleep into dawn
awaken to a silent Sun
you once held my heart below these waters
but unlike all those that followed
I survived you
you may impose fear in the heart
of a wayward toad
or other spineless woodland creatures
but I sleep well
immune to your frozen tears

let us speak
of the way death
splinters through a life
before ripping it away.
let us mourn
and kneel on dirt before
the gravestone—
death sows the seeds
of the violets that bloom.
let us hollow
out our chests, reach
our hands through
holes in the lungs,
hoping to grasp air
and receiving nothing.
let us weep
as we clutch our
fingers over wounds,
let the blood soak them
like sunlight. it is all
we have left.

There's spring and there's summer, there's all that's in between
no listless skies of anodyne; now nature flaunts and preens

What beauty fills the hungry eye 'neath a sky of blue, serene
verdant vales soaked in sun, awash in palettes of green

There are pastels that awaken and deep shades that passion brews
created hues that trickle...sprinkled with 'chartreuse'

There's the green of 'asparagus' and that of 'artichokes'
Of 'forest', 'ferns' , of 'moss', a brush of different strokes

Fragrant plants of 'mint', then 'myrtle' and 'green tea'
'Emerald', 'jade' or 'harlequin' and 'malachites' that be

Off creamy shells, just 'pistachio', 'green apples', then of 'pines'
It lies too in 'sap' and 'teal', in 'avocados' and tangy 'lime'

There's green of the 'mantis', in 'jungle', 'hunters' and 'shamrock'
The lithe 'parakeet' fluttering and the lazy sanguine 'croc'

In blessed 'basil', ' pickle', in 'pear', 'olives' in 'bottle green'
'Gourds' and 'peas' that farmers grow in cultivars pristine

'Tis there in 'aqua' and 'seaweed', in the ripple of 'sea green' waves
In 'turtles', 'sea foam', 'anemone' and a 'tropical glistening lake'

From 'laurel green' to an 'army green' , in 'sage' ( a shade of grey )
The color of 'grass' , the murky 'swamp' , hues in array

There's 'neon' and an 'Indian green', a 'Persian' one to mystify
A 'midnight green' to bright 'fluorescent', oh, for green rainbows in the eye

When I touch your
Forehead with
Mine

The energies between our
Eyes dance within
An inch of

Immense impact.
I could drop you over ruins;
Rebuild cities.

Breathing in the rich hot air, is a budding dark red rose;
tall and triumphant it grows, jutting out its vivid green thorns for a naive deer to witness,

the scent of spices in the heavy air from my mom’s cooking is inhaled by the flowers and weeds, both intertwined and gleefully bursting out towards the welcoming daylight,

the leaves of parched trees whistle and sway with the occasional hot breeze
and the wind chimes dance with raw tunes, glistening in the thick heat,

I scrunch my face and glare at the sizzling white sky
where the sun lord shines with no restraint on my messy dark haired head,
right through my ripped blue shorts and light purple tank top,

walking barefoot from scalding rough concrete onto scratchy green grass
towards the lawn chair shaded underneath the tall dark pine tree,
I sit and take a sip of my icy cold cherry coke, popping chewing gum in my mouth

as I lean back to read To **** A Mockingbird by Harper Lee,
enjoying a light daydream of Atticus Finch
with the sleeves of his white shirt rolled up in the tangible summer heat,

just like the guy standing and looking out the living room window
of the house across from mine, gulping down icy cold beer
and watching with vague interest the girl with bare feet lounging on her front lawn, sweat dripping off her neck like droplets of cold water coursing down a melting icicle,

I look up, shading my eyes to watch a noisy jet fly high in the sky
leaving behind a vacuum of white fluffy clouds in the shapes of loops and swirls
I grin; somehow they spell my name in jagged humid strips of air,

the screen door swings open with a loud creak, followed by the sound of my mom hollering my name,
I sneak one last glance at the guy who looks like Atticus Finch,
and leave him to be alone with the heat as I head inside.