Poetry is the string
         looping through and
         weaving out
the needling pain

It knits a beautiful
         patchwork, coated with
         colorful patterns
our fingers trace

threads of our lives
         create designs
a shining::
shimmering::
or dulling
our emotions blend.

The rain finally comes
The spring rises up to greet the sun
On the long river highway,
The road is long
Past the brook
Past the stream
Along the river
Beyond the lake
Past the lagoon
The wetlands too
The highway a ribbon unfolds
Out to the ocean the road goes
With the promise of deepest
Sleep.

you lit
this fire in me
with your soul
this infinite chemistry;
your lips the match
to light my flame...