She sees him standing on the train,
On his face, a thoughtful look
He stands out in his fancy suit
Like an interesting cover of a closed book

He sees her sitting on the train,
Her bright red sweater catches his eye
Her face is buried in a book
She looks up and starts to smile

He smiles back, they start to talk.
He speaks about his love for trains
She talks about her favourite movie
Slowly, he tells her that he paints

She talks about her English class
And how bright her students are
He talks about his latest paintings
And the gallery that made an offer

They chat for what seems like hours
He's never  talked so much
Finally, her stop arrives, shes tell him
"Let's keep in touch"

He sits at night, stares at his easel
To call her now, is it too late?
His father calls, "How was the meeting?"
He tells him that it was just great

She sits at home preparing
For tomorrow morning's class
Her phone rings and she grins
The Painter called, at last!

A granite sentinel
where zephyrs whisper,
courting the dogwoods,
busy wasps,
look,
there goes a bee,
a butterfly floating,
kissing cairns
in mountain time,
on blood.

I miss you less and less each day
and that breaks my heart in every way.


                                                ↠mndi➣

Night is so silent
Blackness so cold.
With a whisper I shatter
All that had grown old.
Sunset is peaceful
Silence is bliss
But when that is gone
There is a gaping abyss.
Coldness surrounds me
As dark as black death
I give up for
Night is the day’s death.

Freedom
Yes, truly
We got this from
Our ancestors
Who fought for us
Still we are not free
From the bonds
From the relations
From the tasks
We are
What our responsibilities
Are
We are prisoners
Never had a release
Never ending process