Tuesday, April 5, 2011

April 5

In eleven months
we could have joy soon and find
the keys to our locks.

Monday, April 4, 2011

April 4.

This is my wish today:
you, forever.

And if they take that away,
it will get better

for I will follow you
(I'll find you,
chase you,
until my fingers
slip between yours
from behind you)


Sunday, April 3, 2011

April 3


It's like summer
when I have no feeling of spring.

Awake; resolved;
the promise.

Months will pass
and soon we will be
past today.

How slow.
How fast.

Warmth's fingers melt
into my face.

Come soon.
Come soon.

April 2

Can I sit with you
and know I just sit with you?
Just that stirs passion.

Friday, April 1, 2011

April 1

I don't always choose words.
Over me, they hang
suspended, bouncing
on light, light string.

I catch them like spiders
on threaded webs,
carrying them, wisp and air,
floating past the dust mites
of my over-crowded mind.

I discard some,
and shudder
at their spidery-ness.
I shy from their unloveliness
and skittering shape and size.

Some words are uncomely;
eight-legged and untimely.
(Not all words are poetry.)

But some are fireflies.

April 1, 2011