Our plants are looking puny
their leaves are drooping
and yet still they turn to the light
and soak it up
their life inspires me.

I get up out of my comfy chair
out of my observer self
and water them
and in that watering
my blood is circulating
I am breathing in their oxygen
giving back the life they give me.

I need to imitate our plants
soak up the light
and breathe it out.

How will you water today?

Isn’t it strange
how in this brief exchange
of the creative impulse
we gain
a certain kind of intimacy
with each other
yet we never
smell each other
shake hands
breathe the same air
put up with personal idiosyncrasies
and off-putting voice inflections –
all the things our friends and loved ones have to.

Yet here we occupy hearts and minds
many of our friends and loves do not know
with such closeness, interiority, and connectedness.

What a strange and magnificent gift!

The art of longing
was painted
on the wall of sadness,
and yeah
you are the ink of my falling tears.

Silent stars reside
In the blue milieu
Continuing their stellar constancy by day.
They are there like my love,
silent, unpretentious, patient and kind.

Trace your finger along the sky, connecting the dots of your name to a safe, congenial and forgiving place to call home. Maybe your name will meet with mine in the night when the stars return, walking across the expanse of loving kindness that is within your reach.

See you tonight dearest one. Just look up.

My love is a Wednesday morning
His love is a hug from small hands

But you can't hug a day
And small hands can't cook breakfast

Words fall asleep on my tongue
Too tired to reach the edge of my lips
So they wake up and head back to my beating heart

I sit here hoping you don’t feel my silence
Because if you happen to be listening
Then I am afraid of what I might tell you

There is a  slight
remnant of light
peaking through the evading
daytime glow, it casts
a shadow on your iris,
blue & cold.

There is a remnant
of  summer
winds in the cool breeze,
swaying us into
some decadent
daydream.

There is a remnant
And shadow  of
you in my tree lined
view, floating away,
like
you  always do.

So surreal and evading,
Blowing, never remaining,
so surreal and fading,

Like the remnants of
Light, like the remnants
Of our last
Goodbye.

We swim in pools of flowers picked from the gardens
Grown from your words
Going back and forth between poetic sonnets
And bare laughs
Feeling pain in our ribs
Healing the pain in our hearts
I try to write sentences too cluttered to make sense of
With metaphors, like gardens
So that you may not accidentally figure out
Everything you mean to me

So that you and I can spend a lifetime together
Picking words apart
Searching for meaning and walking with the stars
Because these midnight conversations
Are too precious to be lost to effortless deciphering