My husband never liked it- he'd ***** moan and complain,
but it was my place of solitude, being Queen of my domain.
I spent happy hours there, just puttering  in my shed
I had a stash of bourbon there and some intriguing reds.

How the fire started we have never ascertained.
I still suspect my husband, but he'll never take the blame
He says it was a lightening strike that burned it to the ground
but can't explain the empty can of kerosene I found.

Though of suspicious origin, our insurance man came through
accepting tales of lightening strikes out of a sky clear blue.
I'll built my next she shed with brick and you can rest assured
that, no matter what the cost, it's gonna be insured.

I remember passion fondly,
sepia-toned snapshots
of vaguely familiar faces,
preposterous poses
grinning at memory's camera.
Such children we were,
bloated with self-importance
raring to be loosed
upon an unsuspecting world
     (they'll never know what hit'em).
Battered by time,
small success and major failures,
a one-sided smile
crawls up my face today
as I pray
for a fragment of that fire,
a torch
to light the rest of my days.

1 A halo of everything from the nothing.
2 Both seeds and grows space and cosmos.
3 Supernovas are but whimpers to the maker.

Poet dances song in quietude
our dreams throng
down huckleberry roads

Unscripted spoken motions
Mosaic heart emotes

Hope

As he composed
Faces glow so
connect the dots
those consumed disposed

Knowing we're not broken
But in the art we form
as one whole - our garden grows...

Poet paints love with understated eloquence
visions of war never-was

with every tear an ocean
with every dream a peace

all seedling springs.

Poet grants wish
Dances in the street
laughter as he weeps

beauty is what we all seek
to lovingly keep

evergreen

and free.