the stories that made me
I got up at dawn
and rescued
the last star
from the fading night
from the delicate dandelions
I plucked a drop of dew
before it disappeared
into the sun
in my palms
I sifted the aroma
of fresh croissants and bread
from the smell of morning soil
and when the breeze arrived
I caught the birdsong
and prayers
and good mornings
exchanged between children
I got up at dawn
to collect these letters
And then wrote your name
on the morning sky
Now your name rhymes
with everything
I know a place,
a quiet little corner
where people go
to hold hands
and whisper.
It’s quiet
because they whisper
the words of poets,
or famous lines
from films and songs
(they whisper them
out of courtesy
in case the others
are using the same lines).
But if you come with me
I will take you there
and tell you
every funny tale
I know
until your laughter
fills the air
like confetti.
Love isn’t all
whispering you know!
i sat in the darkness
long enough
to realize
which shadows
were actually mine
There is a tiny
breath of air
trapped in the wind chime
hanging in my patio.
It wrestles
its metallic captor
filling my home
with a sweet melody
but I’m aware
that this is combat.
Slowly it gathers its strength,
growing, and louder grows
the music, until
the little gust
breaks free
silence
freedom
today as i sat
on a park bench
i imagined myself
wandering the earth
planting trees
for all the children
yet to be born
whose giggles
should hang
from branches
like birthday decorations