When you died,
O, God,
and my life flashed before your eyes

did it make you wish you never chose the cross?

Dear dancer,
behold
a much-belated birthday gift,
an elegy, apology.
I drove 3000 miles west last week
pursuing every single sunset
the way I once chased after you
and... I'm sorry.

Dear dancer, you are a tree.
How wrong to think your shade was made for me.
Leaves and blooming branches
stretched towards the sky,
floating petals dancing in the
wayward air,
roots deep beneath the grassy earth...
How wrong to think your shade was made for me.

To me
you'll always be the dancer,
ballerina, book lover,
pirouettes and paper cuts
and piano strings.
I'm sure you make them sing like
symphonies.
To me,
you'll always have your place,
framed against sunsets,
nostalgic memories.
To me,
you'll always have that blushing grin.
Sometimes I'll imagine you in coffee shops,
and I still have that mason jar of ocean sand.

Dear dancer,
I'd be remiss if I didn't give you thanks.
You may not know,
but
you saved me from depression.
You saved me from myself.
You showed me what it's like
to smile,
to smile from the heart,
and you taught me freedom once again.  

Here it is,
an elegy, apology,
one last poem for you.
Happy birthday, dear dancer.
Happy birthday.

Find a Poet Not a poser, not a "it's just a hobby" poet. Find one who mumbles lines as they scramble for a pen at breakfast; who shakes their head randomly when their thoughts aren't rhyming properly;  who has notebooks stashed around the house that you must never touch.
2. Listen Savor the spoken words, for those are harder to express. Keep in mind that they can't be edited and re-written, and be forgiving when a mistake is made.
3. Read The body speaks as loudly as words on a page do. When their eyes are closed or focused on the ceiling and the fingers are tapping out syllables, recognize the unique process. Respect the need for quiet, because if you look closely, you can read the poem on their face before they write it on the page.
4. Write Write your story together. Grab hold of the pen and hang on as you move across the page of life. Sometimes you will dance across, others you will be dragged. You may have to cross out a word, or a line, or a page, but don't give up. Discouragement is a poet's biggest enemy, inarticulateness their biggest fear. So end each day with a semi-colon, because the story will never end the way you think it will, and there must be room for more. There is always room for more, more words, more laughter, more tears, more love,
When you love a poet.

The paratrooper
clad in chlorophyllic green
stoic in resolve he leaps
jettisoned from lofty perch
spiraling in space
tumbling through time.
Airborne
born into the air
delivered to the dirt
he dies, decomposes
a casualty of consequence
body brown and rotting in the rain.

Wars are waged and seasons change
and the world spins on in spite of all.

~

My entire life, days I didn’t even know I existed,
hours I sat in the window staring out
Moments spent walking along empty highways
exhaustedly scanning the horizons
Gazing into the night sky, dreaming beyond the moon
Pacing a weakened floor, counting the creaks
Peering behind shadow coated tree lines,
reaching for that which has eluded me

spent looking for you, not even sure who you were
Just knowing that you were out there
you…it has always been you

Sitting on a curb, head in my hands,
lost within the thoughts of my fate,
dreaming of the darkness which seems to follow me,
I feel a warmth, the cold wind changes
Soft hands upon my shoulders rest
and I look between crossed fingers,
seeing that smile, those eyes, realizing
I have not found you…you have found me

You lift me, I feel light, weightless,
as your lips meet mine, and I see
you…it has always been you

Suddenly it all makes sense,
while feeling time was wasted,
remembering footprints mounting the many faded trails,
sunlight opens a new chapter
proving I was not wrong  
Love has found me and it is
you…it has always been you