The stars are twinkling guitars
Sending out radical vibrations
Signals to our expanding nations
They are Vikings burning in space
And dying a billion years later

He laughs at the way
I make lucky paper stars
When I'm anxious
or scared
or sad
or lonely.
He thinks it's cute,
Or so he says.
But when he sees me making them
He comes to sit with me
And I've started to fill
jars of stars
A lot slower
Because I like his smile
when he sits with me.

Cascading torrents of flower petals
Rose golds and melody pastels
Sending gazes utterly transfixed
To the touch of ivory memory
With my feet in the air
And a head no where to be found
Hands transcended into a ***
Of earth and dark cool soil
The base of the flower
I picked the petals off of

Could I handle
A tremble
Bursting happiness
Lingering
In the edges
Of my cheeks

Grandpa

*Grandpa is in his
Second year of dementia
He has not recognized Grandma
for over a year.
but in the summer
for the past three months
he has come in from the garden
holding a small bouquet of flowers
cut from the flower beds he loved.
He falls on one knee
before grandma and says softly
you are the most beautiful
woman I have ever seen
please run away with me
and become my wife.
she touches his silvered hair
softly and whispers
I am your wife honey.
It's a delight to see his
old lost face light up
as the biggest smile
covers it.