Nestled deep within the feel and touch of home
this heart of love goes on a holiday
Like feathered birds in heaven when they roam
all thoughts of you arise, like birds of clay

Nestled deep within the soul I have no choice  
but flap these wings and lead you to my heart
Like  warblers in the sun with trilling voice
all thoughts of you sing sweet, it is an art

Nestled at the font of love the heart's own mind
is like a shelter of collective pasts
Like memories of old that can't go blind
all ardors of the heart seem to outlast

Unblinking as the sun that shines inside my heart
the heart and mind of you and I, will never part.

She was eighteen years of age and tattoos were the latest rage. Snapping her bubble gum she plunks herself on a chair then asks  " May I have a tattoo please" I see a young girl in a messy ponytail and an old beaten up jacket.  I worry that she'll pick something God awful and then I'll have to oblige.  
The boldness of youth
can appear so uncouth
yet reveal so much truth
"I want a tattoo of a winter vine.  One that will not go away nor fade with time" Touching the tip of the needle to the ink it ***** up into the cartilage reservoir.
As the machine begins to “buzz” the armature bar hits the coil and I begin to work. Stretched across her upper arm I notice a discoloration of the skin, a slow petering bruise.
Eyes color of snake
she is all heartache
I take a break...
"Why did you choose a vine?" I ask,  but all I get is silence and a slow breath intake.    
As the coil tattoo gun moves up and down continuously the clicking sound feels soothing
to her ear.  " The last memory I have of my mom is of the the winery.  She told me how the
leaves shimmer with color before falling off.  How the sap sinks into the roots and the vine
falls asleep, while waiting for the next summer to appear.
the tendrils climb
this is her time
not mine
In her handbag she carries a heavy load plus some green crumpled dollar bills.  " How much do I owe you?" she asks.  I tell her shes already paid her dues " No charge. " I say.  She smiles and then she leaves, as if on cue...

Between the silence of a sterile room and a child of grace
the sure footed arrival of a God without a face
The hourglass of time stills the stage with un-remission
as she waits by Snow Don Hills without contrition
A floodlight of compassion eases in she's not in pain    
her soul is a lit lantern that's never smelt the rain
Wearing a tallit with knotted fringes on each corner
He's opens every angle like an Angel without borders
Dressed in a dignity gown and propped against a pillow
she dances with the bunnies beneath a weeping willow
God takes her little hand in His, its simple so precise  
just like sunrise in the morning, straight from paradise.