Sometimes
I cry
Not because I am sad
Or hurt.
Most of the time
I cry to hide my pain
Or
Compete with winter rain.
Each drop of rain
Gives a new life to the ground.
Only my hope
Not yet found.
My tears are poetry
Only sagacious poets
Can understand.
This is not parody.
Each drop of tear
Kills that strange fear.
Though to death
I am so near.
I cry
Not to say goodbye
But
To shout out
I won't die.

My footsteps,
like finger tips
on a piano,
play a
lonely song.

The air is cotton-tangle thick and
thoughts are heavy.

I unpick a hem of memory -

The quiet pip-pip of a broken stitch
gives way to raw.

you don’t even know what love is;
but, it’s a nice thought,
that you might forever.