In the glow of torchlight,

You write,

Hoping to capture

What the transcendentalists could not –

The fleeting river of life,

Into which each of us steps only once,

The sweet fruits of being alive,

And sweeter still, the song love sings,

When She comes

On silent feet

That have been dragged through

The morning’s dew,

And the grass,

And the dirt and the mud and the organic detritus

Of the Garden

But which are altogether

Untouched by their travels,

  And still as pure

As your heart

The night before it was first broken.


Thinking of You

Do you think of me at dawn,

When you arise, first light tingeing the rooftops

A rosy gold?

Do you dream of me at dusk,

The first of those septentrional stars

Shining bright in the blanket of the newly minted night?

Do you wake from dreams of me

In the still and quiet of the early hours,

A bittersweet melody playing itself out

Once more across the canvas of your skin?

Do you remember me as I remember you,

Indelible ink forever spilt across my midnight musings?


It was the end of May and
My love was in full bloom,
Lush and vibrant and full
Of musical moments of merriment,
Soft and comfortable and
Shining like the Northern Lights,
Beautiful and brash and
Everything I’d ever wanted.

June was taking a bow as
The curtain came to a close,
And my love grew gentler and
Sweeter, lovelier,
If you will,
But the roses wither, the music dies,
Light fades, and
My love was no more.