Ahead

Did sweet moments turn
Into long lost memories

The grain of romance already

Sprouted and cracked a thousand buds

Our tacit agreements

To lift each others spirit

And the seat
And to trim the fern

Browning at the tips of its thin leaves

Promises that echo louder undone

Words when launched

Without meaning

Fester the lover
Goodhearted hand-holder

First Spring

Long grass, swaying

like a devout on sunday

bend down and carefully brush
The tired and sad from my face
Blissful amber stripes where the
Sun draped its gauzy arms

Across ribs, a silent zylophone plays

As the boule rolls into a deep blue
And a breathy breeze whispers
Stories drawn through like a rhythmic

song: waves of cloud accumulate
Too cool for words to float
Alongside the gathering gloam