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 May 2017 Paul
Autumn Rose
The wild roses grew,
all upon the wooden
garden fence, painted white.
Gentle autumn breezes blew
and stirred the
emerald-green leaves.
The melancholy fragrance
was spread in the air,
as I sat and watched
the red petals submit
to the deadly season.
So i sang them a lullaby,
to fall in a summer dream,
And peacefully wilt
with no sorrow,
with no tears...
 May 2017 Paul
Jonathan Witte
Our house is a black box.
We drape every window

but one, a pinhole
to capture the sun.

At night our eyes go dark as ink.
Our memories marbleize at
the edge of the bedroom.

Come morning,
we are nothing

but inverted images
fed by shared light.

You tell me to smile
and I braid your hair.

Upstairs, the children
develop like ghosts.

I put on another record
and the dark disc spins,

its needle lulled
into grooves the way
you are lulled into me.

We could almost dance together,
but the couple at the window

will not move until
we come into focus.
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