Tarlatan of fuchsia
bleeds into her bodice.
Like a gutter flower ballerina,
her performance is flawless.
She’s silently reliant
in every movement.
The summer’s snowflakes
blown by the dreams of children
wished into the wind
A natural mystic
when she wears
vanilla and lavender—
I surrender myself to her.
Drawn to her waiting garden
like a wandering steed—
my trance guided by instinct.
She can wipe the tears
from a weeping willow
like a dream,
she is everywhere I turn.
Having traveled so far a distance,
the scent of, “I Love You“
always guides me home.
Marbled morning skies are breathless
Only the gossip of birds echo through the silence
Dampening dew soften the ground
Nor wind or silhouette make a sound
As the sun begins to peek its little eye,
shadows are shaded back to life
The buds of Spring are now evident,
it took a bit to take it all in
I’d rather be still—in the moment
like the pen upon my desk
where we lay dormant