Your Letters

Your lines

written

on childhood paper

not unlike

the scritchy-scratchy crows feet

which now perch

around my eyes

I see in them
dare I say it?
... love

Boy across the street

that’s who you were to me

for years

“His people

hardworking

salt of the earth

but ...

not washed
in the

soul-cleansing-blood-of-the-lamb”

So, I married a young man

who went to the preaching

like clock-work

The last time we met

really talked
we two

I was cold
cutting

drawing bad blood

between us

The young man

who attended the preaching

like clock-work
is gone now

but not before breaking
my spirit
and each
Commandment sacred

In between the lines

of your

timeworn letters

I belatedly

see

feel

understand

Dare I say it?

… love

My Offering

deprivation

of caring

has transformed you

to a sun-dried raisin

desiccated

membrane

I too

am a dehydrated

withered rind

envisioning myself,

in my minds eye,

to be a

sodden

soggy

moist

living-breathing

greenhouse

of life

longing to be

dripping

with vitality                             

scant, precious oil of

my very essence remains

well hidden away

until almost forgotten

gladly

will I

pour myself

out

for you
all that remains of me

to

cover

anoint

fill you

please …

I pray,

do not nullify

the bestowal of a most treasured gift 
this genuine, full heart proffered

infinitely, intimately trusting

allowing myself

to be poured out upon you

only to have it trickle into the dust

to be forgotten

trampled underfoot

as a minor,

inconsequential

token

of no value

even so
love converts doubt into hope
take my hand
so that I may submit my offering ...

Lone Wolf

spirit independent  

a quiet force

empowered-empelled me

to break away

from the writhing pack

of snarling-snapping-vicious whelps
ferociously battling one another over rancid scraps

each vying to be

primary

alpha

top dog

a
lone wolf

now

am I

hunting solo

persisting in solitude

endless this journey

through vast wilderness

daily survival
tests endurance

as night approaches

to enshroud the world

in murky darkness

I will
howl

bay
yip

yowl

calling out to declare

my status as lone wolf

aloof-singular-wild-free

I am oddly at peace

my sonorous voice accompanied

solely
by the rustling spirit
of the soulful wind

Joy Has Flown South

Joy has flown south,

for the winter it seems,

condensation beads

on glass panes

chill air of late autumn

kisses the warmth

of this house

on its windowed eyes

leaving tears

which adhere

with unshakable drear

Yearning

for long days

of bright, brilliant light

which have migrated

to warmer climes

introducing summer

to a different hemisphere

we’ve a bleak wintry slog

in the meantime, to endure

I will hibernate to daydream

of happier, golden days

whose promise

lies in the coming spring

like the sleeping bulbs

buried in the garden

lying dormant now

may the sun
in its fullness
reappear