The Deceit of White Oleander

Winter mists the window panes
with veiny tributaries that trickle
to the sill with a warm touch.
The trajectory of time trails run  off
down the mountain side an affirmation
of spring the honey-sweet deceit  of
white Oleander.
Remain here until the birds sing
our disparity, till reality overshadows
dreams and tears and dew drops blend.
Then we will part.

 

 

Image result for Painting of a beautiful woman with a pink Oleander

Art by Rae Williams at Pinterest

The Moon and Trees

Beyond the terrace
I pace barefoot through
the garden past the blurred
flowers that bend their petals
as though they know me.
Brilliant in the starlight
the old tree stands apart
as if  having outgrown the
rest it needs space.
It sighs to the song of a breeze
limbs reaching to the sky.
I wonder if it has eyes
to hold such history.
I feel it is friends
with the moon
I  hear them laughing at us.

 

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