Friday, May 7, 2010


Robert's flower has gone to seed
and people are talking to themselves in the street
in boxes so small,
nestled in between the neck and jaw
like miniscule violins.

And so begins
an anquished fill of empty space
or into the ears of someone like you,
trolling the water
Patient fisherman
who spends the day
casting out your l ine
and reeling in;
casting out
and reeling in
for the likes of me.

And in your lovely heart
pools the souls of those
whom you've kept alive
and then let go,
but only when the time seems right.


Jennifer Valentine said...

I love this.....and you, so very much.

LoveLady said...

How beautiful! Bravo!