that's mrs. mediocrity to you

all the memories
become a jumble
of forgotten chances

paint peels
and the sky
blinks

clouding birds
with gun flint
steel

a southern hurricane
whispers blindly
through the poplars
i planted

one day long ago
when i could not
say your name

now those same trees
shade our bedroom
telling secrets to a
clear clown canvas

and i paint circles
on your chest
with knobby-edged
fingers

wondering
if the rings
at the heart of those
tall twin trunks
are made of time
or gold

or if it matters

shadows dance
as leaves shimmy shake
across the surface of a lake
we never managed
to explore

and we watch the sun
set down color
like a promise

or a platter
filled with food
from a picnic
never taken

.

.

.

.

a dance

with the sky

requires

bare feet

a dab of scent

and

arms wide open

.

.

.

.

.

mother nature invented fireworks

.

love is everywhere i turn

.

outrage makes me tired

.

reading keeps me sane

.

writing keeps me whole

.

my garden keeps me centered

.

fireflies at midnight are still magic

.

every sunrise is a page in the book of possibility

.

every sunset is a sentence in your story

.

whispering poplars sing the best lullabyes

.

birdsong is the symphony of life

.

.

.

.

half is half and whole is whole
and open is never closed

the sky is unconcerned with your welfare
even as it paints your evening red

silence is impossible to silence

full or empty
black or gold

drink it in with your pessimist’s stare
pour it out with an optimist’s grin

overflow

and the earth will take your offering
run it downhill to the pool of purpose

gather
mingle
transmogrify

despair and hope and courage

and puddle them all
at the feet of fortitude

an elixir of entropy
reflecting

cirrus clouds
and broken blue

.

.

.