Goodnight,
little darlings.
Off to sleep,
kindred
crestfallen.
Welcome
your dreams
once more.
They can lift
your burdens
by teaching them
how to fly,
and away they shall flutter with just one wish from your heart.
Wherefore, you can bid them
departure,
spending
summer
looking
after
the
butterflies,
wi­nter
lying
dormant,
far from
the quiet
rooms
of home,
where you
comfort
mother
and pray
for father's
imminent
return
.....
....
...
..
.

A writers mind is a splash of fertile paint upon a wall.

We shake the brush and sit and watch the living colours fall.

I eat your poetry like ice cream.
It settles in orbits in my mind.
A universe of words swirling
into meanings understood by
the lost souls called poets.

Navigating mercy

An asylum harbor from afar

Here, in the gloaming of your closed
notebooks

A faint-hearted horizon

And the wide beam sea

Two days out from despair

The written word will capsize
you, Anne

God is in your typewriter
and where the boats so often go