a winter moon shines palish white
above her sleeping head a night
and there she dreams of sweet delight
of better days to come

Chorus:
I know God...

Voice One:
I remember planting a
small bean seed.

Voice Two:
I recall the miracle of a
newborn's fingers.

Voice Three:
I recollect the
feeling from the
tug of a
windblown kite.

Voice One:
I marveled how
the bean sprout
struggled against the earth.

Voice Three:
How the kite rose
majestically
into the sky,
then darted back and forth,
as if to nod
its approval.

Voice One:
Finally, the sprout
opened its leaf
as if to say hello.

Chorus:
So, while I may not have conversed with God,
I most certainly have shook God's hand.

I recall dry summer days
And how dust could linger
   in the air.
I loved to watch the trail of dust
   of the pickup,
As it drove those old dirt roads.

I enjoyed opening a slamming
   the big chests
      in the attic.

And I was fascinated
   by the fog
      of dust
I could create
   in the chicken yard.

Dust seemed to rise
   in the summer heat
      and billow
         and slowly
      ever so slowly
   settle
to completion.

How sad it is to kiss and part.
The morning fog must know this.
It comes in the stillness of the night.
It settles, caressing its beloved,
And leaving with the break of day.

Curtains, blown by an evening's gale,
Applaud movements of the Coryphee,
That sentry for everything frail
And the things of beauty put away.

She dances to melodic chimes,
Which haunt the summer evening's air,
She leaps, turns, points, and spins in time,
Unmindful of her sentinel care.

She ignores forgotten keys, rings,
Bracelets, pins, a small glass hummingbird,
As well a wads of necklace strings,
She keeps on dancing, without a word.

Still ballerina dances,
Doing pirouettes to some refrain,
Ignoring her audiences,
Never seeking any other gain.

Yet, with time, every life must fade.
When this life, by key, has come to end,
She answers her death unafraid.
The chest is closed by a gust of wind.

My old trunk is filled with
Baby shoes,
   But no one knows to whom they belong,
Faded pictures,
Christmas ornaments,
Spectacles,
Watches that no longer work
Tarnished silver,
A tennis racket,
My mother's false teeth,
Embroidered napkins, I was saving for company,
And memories.

I clothe this trunk
   With vestments of spider webs
And warm it with white sheets,
   As one would cover furniture
      of one departed.
And eventually,
   The trunk is once again
      Forgotten.

Life is a carnival,
   Filled with amusement rides and comfort food.
      But, no matter how much fun I have today,
         There will only be an empty parking lot tomorrow.

That trunk is my lifeline to remember
   There was a carnival.

Feelings, warm, a summer breeze,
When you look at me.
Never thought I'd feel again,
Except for some cold despair.  
Til you came into my life  
And showed me that you care.

Feelings, cold, a winter blast,
Frightened, like the past.
It's knowing you're not near.
Certainly, I must confide.
I need touch, your summer waft,
To warm me  deep inside.