There are days when I feel like a bird
wheeling along jagged edges of ancient
cliffs above the icy cold waves of a rough
My feathers sparkle in the beam of
the lighthouse and swells pulse my
tender bones that in a blue dream you held
gently in your palm like a rare shell.
You’ve abandoned the cottage that waits at
the tide hewn shore,
The moon and I have stopped searching.
Still each time we pass I tip my wing.
Art by R. Simon
“I have decided to stick to love…Hate is too great a burden to bear.”
Dr. Martin Luther King Jr.
I will always disappoint you. My words are no where near doves, ink stained and caked with clay though I have scrubbed them bloody. My lines hold an unexpected rainstorm that I inflate into a tsunami, a swell that you can’t hold back with your most tender sighs. Still I expect you to save me, lift me from obscurity. I tell lies lovingly, each verse a sacred resting place or a buzzed serendipity. I will fall in love with the sleeved heart of every poet. Give me a purpose , a wilting tea rose or the embryo of a pearl in a shell washed ashore.