And if only I knew
how to keep
a handful of happiness
in my pocket
on demand,
instead of running short
of her company
far too often.

Needing space, I have to say
   Just a little space today
Just enough space so I can breathe freely
   Without letting go completely
Space to contemplate existence
   Without too much interference
Just enough space to find myself
   Without disturbing the dust on the shelf
Space to push a little at the world out there
   Without it pushing back everywhere

Deep inside
   where nothing's fine
      I've lost my mind
   to the poet inside

Mind awash
   with turmoiled thoughts
      I close my eyes
   and begin the slide

Words ripple
   awakening forgotten feelings
      I breathe in poetry
   and finally turn the tide

Awake, I listen to the wind run her fingers through the curtains,
as they twist and tremble,
and feel the cold tendrils of her breath brush my tired sleepless eyes.

There is a taste of rain on the edge of it.

Rain that will wash away
yesterday,
today and tomorrow.

Rain that is infinite- particles recycled over and over again.

A taste of centuries,
the tendrils of time
retelling the same stories;
our long breaths of sorrow,
our short gasps of joy-
all set on repeat
to cycle around
again and again..

Have we felt this same despair
for eons?
Will we still dance
with this same darkness
for eons to come?

Will we still ask the same
unanswerable
questions about life
only for the rain
once again
to come and wash them away
with our falling tears- infinite particles
passing through
our finite
momentary
lives.

You have said
As a Phenomenal Woman
That
Still I Rise,
and so you must to travel
The Road Not Taken.
But
If You Forget Me
In your
Dreams,
Dearest Annabel Lee,
I will sing like the
Caged Bird.

If,
When Stopping by the Woods on a Snowy Evening,
You should find yourself in
A Dream Within a Dream,
Then deny, for
I Don't Love You Because I Love You;
I love you more
As I Grow Older.

I will pass through this life,
Do Not Stand by My Grave and Weep,
You are not
Alone.
You too
Will Not Go Gently Into That Good Night;
For I
Don't Go Far Off.
This is the promise:
Hope is the Thing With Feathers,
or it can be
A Poison Tree,
Casting venom on
Daffodils,
Making
All the World a Stage,
And I,
An understudy in the wings.