This morning,

I got rain on the spine of her book

part of me thinks she’d like that

she’d find it fitting

it’d match the rainfall of her world

the storm of her soul

so deeply felt,

so beautifully expressed.

I looked up what she looked like

an old photo with these full pursed lips

like she could barely contain the words

locked behind her teeth –

she looked thoughtful

like her mind had the same pauses,

the same punctuation as her writing.

I wondered if she felt like me

frustrated her words only decorated

the fragility of her own papers –

her whole life only five published works

out of her 1775 masterpieces

her 1775 genuine expressions of humanity.

This morning,

I wrote her a love note

folded into a square

and watched the rain in the street,

carry it into the sewer.

The Summer’s Sun

My love,

she is the summer’s sun

shinning life on spring blossoms

warming slow winter hearts.

She is a hundred thousand miles

stretching around the horizon

then sprawling atop my chest.

Some days glow dim

mourning their solemn overcasts.

Yet the sunlight through thin drapes

revives in me a certain faith

that I’ll one day know:

the rhythm of her heart beat,

which so sweetly sings a tune

to the silence between moments.

the beauty in all her precious moods,

when she dances on wood floors

or cries into my stained collar.

the bliss in her dreams,

when there is too much hope

in her cup of morning coffee.

Yes my love,

is the summer’s sun

a beacon of light

I walk towards her



The true words are not spoken

the real poems are not written

but rather

whispered into closed fists,

which are held against the heart.

The most beautiful scenes

are not captured in photos

but felt vividly

as a sprawling expanse

flourishing untouched,

unclaimed before us.

The deepest loves

are not requited glances

but observations

resolute in strength,

intangible in soul.

All these graces

All these truths,

are quiet.

Heavy Clouds Break

The heavy clouds they taunt us

by gathering rain and dust

how dare they float

right along

while down

on Earth,

we rust.

The storm out here is coming

all along we know this truth

there is nothing left to do

we struggle towards

search for,

a use.

I hear those damn clouds laughing

tears streaming down their face

but I will not yield to them

even lightning bolts

even storm clouds,


The Cloud

How can I be so amazed

by something so far

so deeply cared for

yet close to my heart.

I hope The Cloud won’t worry

about where it stays

it’ll float right along

with grace all the same.

So ease your sweet mind

my friend The Cloud

dream your dreams softly

but say them out loud

to my friend, with love,

The Cloud.

From my Car

He gently places the flowers on her step

heavy from the weight

of all that young bachelor’s heart beats

all his feelings,

all his intentions,

his cherished observations.

I watch from my car

swallowing thick gulps of air

tasting the tension in his blood.

He rings her bell

runs off grinning

like a thief pocketing diamonds.

She opens the door

smiles at the sight

brings the flowers to her chest

breathes in her hopes deeply

smiling in the sea of its aroma.

Yet that bachelor never saw the smile he caused

only I did,

watching from my car.

Where is that bachelor now?

I imagine him in open pasture

somewhere warm

picking more flowers.