Down stormy road..
Let me begin to imagine the sunny day with you..
Its strange..
I can't seem picture the sunny day in such a storm..
Its as if I have forgotten what it was like..
But I do see us walking in the rain..
Its cold at first but we soon get use to it..
The rain stops and the lightning dances across the sky from cloud to cloud..
I remember us leaving and never arriving..
Without destination..
The leaving storms in the distance leave such a blue for my eyes..
I call it Storm on the horizon blue..
That is where I see us..
Running with the lightning in the sky..

why a poet?
because a poet
hears the words
which sing the
purest harmonies
because a poet
paints their portraits
in pastels
of phrases
because a poet
dances their agonies
into leaps of faith
and pirouettes
of passion
because a poet
sees
the beauty
in the commonplace
and captures
the moment
in a snapshot
of ink and white
because a bloodless world
cuts itself
a thousand times

and the poet bleeds

it seems came her

adrift on mellow breezes
faintly scent o' strawberries

red dawn golden lashes  in rhythms
upon a meadow painted by
Emerson words and Van Gogh splashes

so lightly afoot
so not to spoil any of nature

listening
relaying

being
her.