Poetry is like fragments
And that is the crux of being this type of writer

That fragment in time
Love or loss

Seeing and hiding

The pain
The silence
All internal

Sometimes little slips of paper
Left to be found in a jewelry box
Or luggage
or shoe...

Somehow always attached to leaving
But expressing in short verse
An insurmountable feeling of forever

Our words that never fail to carry
Be it to the heavens
To the sea

We see your captivating flaws
Take our anger and paint a tapestry of phrase
You will never be more beautiful
As when you are the subject of a poet
For that fragment
That stanza
It's yours

You are our muse
Our moments in time
A reality in our dimension
The reality of you