Too often come the times when we must act Against our dreams, and in this choice step out Not softly nor as timid ones. In fact, We deign to boldly go despite our doubt. And love compels our footsteps: honor, trust; We cling to these as anchors in the storm,
I know not what I say until it's there Emblazoned and incarnate, soul as ink, As heady as a garden. How I think In pen, perhaps aloud, and words will bear Those thoughts of which I suffer unaware. They weigh upon a heart that's apt to
I'm not supposed to crumble like a child Dissolved in foolish tears or aching breast Or lay me down and weep for trust defiled Or to my justice cling as though obsessed. I'm not allowed to mourn my heart's distress. I am instead supposed
Oh God, how did the sun turn into blood? How did the lunar surface start to crack? When all I did was lay my head to rest As nightfall, soft, cascading in a flood Bespoke my eyelids, conquered, muscles slack Embraced in heavy slumber on its breast. The night breeze
I longed for summer Back in dusty rooms of woodsmoke Reveling in cocoa, briefly, But aching for days I remembered As alive And full of joys in cut grass And watermelon rinds. Summer evenings cooled to sultry theatres For fireflies on a clothesline-curtain stage. And my age Was two and