At first light, I turn my head
towards an open window
and listen to the dove’s lament.
I know his pain. I know his cry.

He weeps in such a way
that makes me wish
I could answer,
but only God or another dove
can heed that call.

I turn my head away from the window,
pull warm covers back over my ears
and wait for him to fly away.

Called out your name
For just a couple of moments,
You were still here
Stared into the quiet
Conversations in our minds
Laughter in our souls
Then the world turned
And the sun set
The seconds are over
And so, you left us.

Morning glides its sticky honey hands
through your window
dances across your closed eyelids
Born into the sunlight that
Burns into you and
Pulls up your glazed eyes,
Pushes you back into your nightmare

This morning,
I am a mourning sunflower

Willing to burn than
lose my deity’s warmth

Alone
with my ardent longings

Mourning
the mornings I spent in her absence

Three years,
and I still burn, want, and weep

I cried again, at the thought of her
in between all the drifting stars.
I cried again, at the thought of her
in between my throbbing scars.

I asked my papa, when it'd leave
when my pain would finally stop,
but he shook his head in reprieve,
and from his mouth came a cough,

"It never leaves, only dulls,
never hardens, but never is the same;
you're my daughter, my only daughter,
you and I, we share a pain."

Mama, I cried, at the thought of her,
especially on the day when I left;
I came back into your loving arms,
and from my mouth, I finally wept.