The garden of Love
Is in a cemetery
Mourners come visit
With black clothes and Bibles
To sit and be still
To speak of sweet memories
There's no gardener
The flowers have become wild
Reaching the mouths of angels

The morning throws us one way
Coffee sends us another
A message flies us off the earth
While glances chain us to the sea

A thought, like a drop of ink
In water, spreads and covers
Our quiet demeanor
With its demands

I missed the bus today
And after an hour I feel
The riptide
Pull me from the shore

A poem should be light
Like phosphorescent fingers
Touched by Saturn's rings
A poem should be musical
Teaching God to dance
Barefoot on the Andes peaks
A poem should have grace
Feeding the hearts of angels
As they clothe the bare lilies

Throw me like
        yesterday's newspaper
I'll come rolling back
       around like tommorow's weather

Abandon me
        to the elements
I'll still cling to you
         like the sacraments

Forget me like
          an unwanted memory
I'll be what you need
          your deepest remedy

Ignore me like
          you ignore the flies
I'll be the one
          to remember your lies

I dreamt of a former lover
Half forgotten
In an unknown cottage
We kissed

Outside was a field of flowers
Facing the sun
On the warm bed
We cuddled

And then comes the electric
Winter wind
And my body shivered
A deathly blow

My lover has disappeared
I'm left alone
In a dark room pierced
By broken glass

Some poems last a century
Some poems last an hour
Yet others are satisfied
With holding no real power

I’ve done my purpose they say
No need to delay
Like a breeze that cools an infant’s head
Like a gentle kiss before bed