I know I love you
because when I think
of you my heart feels full,
a pond choking with water hyacinth,
their hungry roots reaching deep
into the beds of yearning,
overflowing walls of longing
where I am so afraid to fall .
Because I love you I forfeit
my privilege, allow my heart
to drown in you as though you
Vincent Van Gogh
to prune but wilted petals
wave provocatively from
dried shrubs here among the
famished flowers and the fading sun is
pleasing on my bare back.
Sticky tongues of desiccated lizards
flick the spidery veins of elongated
roots plucked without mercy from the
Dew drops glisten on scars and nicked
fingers bleed from circumcised petals
sheathed in thorns.
I know it it is too early but the languishing
garden screams out for structure,
the need to be in control again.
Art by Jill Martin
Insects large and small flit
through the lemony filter of dense canopies.
In hushed whispers we point to a clearing
where a roe fawn nibbles at pine needles.
Soft as cotton clouds brush the crowns of ancient trees,
below a hanging mist clings to blonde foothills.
You pluck a marigold to tuck behind my ear,
a golden hand print left on my thigh.
I wind a garland of fern around your wrist,
close enough to run my fingers through your hair,
carry your scent back home with me.
Deborah Gryka “Turtle Woods”
I apologize ! I found that the comment section was turned off on this. I have gremlins.
Feel the changing seasons,
the tilt of the Earth’s axis,
the days growing longer as
the night desires to linger.
Summer seemed boundless,
the sundial casts long shadows.
I will miss you with your
brand of ripeness,
August’s lustrous brightness
inciting the senses with fields
afire beneath a summer sky.
Now its wheat is stacked and
bound in lonely batches.
Buried beneath autumn leaves
the earth imbues the darker hues
starless skies of delft blue and
gray swathes that cloak the dawn.
The ash of burning locust wood
shrouds the wilting garden with
the musky scent of autumn ghosts
heralding the chill.
This is a day of sun kissed
stones and summer winds,
of wild geese adorning river banks,
their graceful necks and gilded feathers
remind me that I am nothing more.
The lush arms of live oak reach out
and up across the fragrant waters
to weightless clouds.
Dipping my fingers through slanted curtains
of green and amber circlets I hold my
reflection in cupped hands.
A young birch sways
like a newborn giraffe
its limbs lean out over
wilted grass and ochre
vines wind a marble sentry
whose eyes never flinch
but guard eternal while
winter snow stacks on
solitary bones until May
winds stir the crowns of
trees filled with the wails of
wingless birds powerless
to fly on.
In the moonlight I am a shimmer
of anemone flowers washed ashore
on cascades of foamy waves across
the flawless imprint of my love.
Gossamer beams spill down our throats
where there is no need for words below
a sky filled with muted stars driven to be near us.
Tonight we are the sigh of winds
over high cliffs echoing from walls
of murky caves and back again.
Tethered to nothing we are
free of burden, golden sand enticing the
current through ancient reefs,
released forever back to the sea.
Coral Reef from Google
In the hour before dawn when the stars still hold on to the velvet sky, stealthy specters rise, pull on layers of clothing and slip silently into the low lying fog. Father let the car roll down the driveway signalling me with a fingertip to his lips to make not a sound for fear we would wake the sleeping who might want to intrude on our secret adventure just for two. The engine purring like a cat hummed down the deserted highway to a slab of pavement leading to the bay. From there the scent of Gumbo Limbo and salty mangrove drifted through our open windows. Parking between two boulders we walked to the craggy shore. The horizon glowed in lush amber, waves so far away, tidal sand came alive with trifles of tiny seas where a bug eyed Hermit Crab hurriedly dug his hiding hole. Provocative anemones waved their fuchsia fingers at lilac colored algae where a Starfish tiny as a tear waited patiently for a finger to regrow. The squawk of Sea gulls invoked by the rising sun signaled us to move along. In the full light of day we sat silently on the sea wall, the sound of crashing waves pounding in our ears.
Photo by Brocken Inaglory
On a thorny stalk
wrapped in veiny leaves
heavy with the burden
of viscous dew
for the love of light her
corolla lifts upright
a broad faced still life
anchored to the earth
she tracks the sun across
an unpredictable sky.
At dusk she combs the air
retreating at twilight into
pearly pools of the moon.
Photograph by Heart