Stay

Stay.

We will sit on that old hill,

singing with white butterflies,

creaking under the weight

of lives

we could have led.

Stay.

We will fall into the sun's embrace,

let it kiss our aching skin,

let it color us golden,

a love

we forgot we had.

All these oranges hanging low,

sun speckled branches reaching for the sweet earth.

I pick them all and peel them for you,

give you the bigger half each time.

And the scent of citrus

never leaves my fingertips.

I wish it was you.

The Inevitable Coming of December

I carry the weight

of a year.

The season

of pomegranates has come

and gone.

Every day the wind

asks me

where you are.

I don’t remember

how to speak.

Healing Achilles

The river runs

and it remembers a day

when a mother’s love

let its waters kiss a boy

everywhere

everywhere

except where

she couldn’t let go

and the arrow flies

and it knows the spot

where love has left

something soft

something ready to fall apart.

Homesick

Here

everything begins,

everything is birthed,

from olive oil

and garlic

and ginger.

There is no corner of the world

that can compare to her kitchen.

Light

Dust particles float

in morning light kisses,

golden silk

on a green world.

Curtains of pink and blue

a goodbye until tomorrow.

Ethereal flickers of fireflies

in long grass,

grass that turns silver

under the cold, lonely starlight.

Home

Turquoise summer girl,

in that silver moonlight

you became a twirling dervish,

free of want,

free of world,

your heart beating

to an unheard daf,

that soft veil of starlight

calling your name,

breaking you away

with the gentlest hand.

Ache

There is a wild

aching heart

in the long grass

beneath the pink-blue sky.

A small moon smiles

and weeps at the same time.

The rustle of leaves

touched by the wind,

the still green

of a hidden pond,

in which the early stars dance.

There is a wild

aching heart

waiting to be found.

A Prayer

God says

Look.

I made this for you.

And I forget how to say thank you

as the sky bursts into color.

God says

I knew

you would love roses

before I made you.

And I watch the consequence

of a thorn

pool into a ruby on my fingertip.

God says

I made you

of everything beautiful,

of everything strong.

And my shoulders creak

under the weight

of all the lives I could have led.

I tell God

I miss you.

I want to come home.

God says

Okay.

Count the stars

while you wait for the train.