How to hold as loosely to the dark as I do the light?
Love is perfected in loss and longing
and joy is born of pain.
How can this be,
that there is no other way?
Prophecy of Hope
One day I will tell you the song of our love
and it will be whole.
It will always have been whole.
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I Share My Love with Grief
What does it mean if what I write makes me cry?
Speaks to me of the acceptance I’ve yet to grasp,
tells me of the hope that one day I will?
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Giving Thanks
Gratitude stains my hands
and licks my open wounds,
sets my heart to a blood pumping rhythm,
.
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Orlando Summer
Late afternoon and the soaking foliage
heavy, damp, lively and restless;
The tiny plot with a million oak leaves,
layer upon layer, full of vigor and decay.
The burgeoning tropicals, the insistent weeds,
the anxious parents, the restive children,
the overwrought neighborhood street.
Ambitious fire of noonday sun strengthening
the obstinate, unpredictable sky.
