If I could gather all the stars,
And place them in a bowl,
If I could capture a sunset
And frame it for your wall.
If I could scrape off sunlight's glow,
That kisses the green grass,
Blend the mixture gently,
And serve it in a glass.

I would, I would,
A thousand times or more,
To bring you closer to the beauty
Of all you're longing for.

breeze sings from the east
a tickle against my skin.
the grass here hasn’t been cut for a while
cool to the touch as i braid it between my fingers.
the heat of summer hangs thick in the air but it feels a little lighter
when a stranger’s laugh pokes through.
some sit together , ripping a piece off their pizza crust to hand across the picnic blanket.
some, like me, find a tree standing tall like their own solitude
and take solace in its shade.
i wonder what they carry in their straw baskets and canvas totes.
the change leftover from a morning coffee run?
a half empty bottle of sunscreen?
old movie ticket stubs, a tattered picture of a lover?
in mine, a book with dog eared pages and a broken spine, and the sticky bittersweetness of being alone.
an eager-eyed little boy runs too fast down the hill , picks up speed -
tumbles and scrapes his knee.
his sister scoops him up, wipes salty tears and sticks her tongue out, a smile arises.
in seconds he’s running down the hill again.

One must have a mind of the sea to regard the waves and sandy shores of the salted winds encrusted with shells and past souls.

And have been one with the ocean to behold the sea glass's aquamarine lustre. The encompassing hues of blue highlight the luminescent bacterium.

Swimming in the deep torrents lie miserable souls who jumped overboard, mesmerised by the blues.

Of the July sun, and not to think of any misery sung by the sirens, I was told through the wistful wind in the sound of the shells and conches.

Which is the sound of the waves full of the same wind. That blows through the murky water.

For the listener, dweller, and lover who resides by the shore

And nothing of themselves beholds that of the sea, nothing that is not there, and nothing that is.

A girl with a crush
every pure thought in her heart
she buries deep
until she misses
the warmth of spring
the romance in the summer
and the fall season comes
only to realize that love is gone
the days
when she didn't have the courage
to say
the words
bloom in regret
black blue grenade
shrapnel wound
seems an eternity
when she carefully peels back memories
wrapped so tightly in time
she starts to see
a scintilla
pink and odd
a clutch of stars
dark red and blinking
every bit as pellucid
as the teardrop coalesced
in her eyes.