Something so Strong

There is no magic
in the way it's always been,
just ruts
formed in muddy pathways
which hardened over time
making
egress
harder than it needs to be.
The memory
that this rut
did not always exist
but needed to be created
eludes us
as it runs,
the same way it has always run.
So hang
a counter-clockwise clock
as a small reminder
that
it does not always
need to be that way.

Spring

As Spring settles
into her beauty
her song begins
to change --
Allegro to Andante.
She walks
hand-in-hand
with the gray
clouds
and long
slow breezes,
kisses you
with chills
in the morning
but loves you
with cool,
cloudless nights.
Only
for you.

The Expected Visit

Spring arrived this morning,
never mind the date.
Crisp air under gray clouds
breaking
just enough
to let sunlight play
its dancing games.
Shadows grow
off budding trees
while
patchwork patterns play
on puddles
where floating
petals spin
then stop,
their tips pointing
like stops on a compass.
Not North
but April.

What Old Photographs Think

These vibrant times

reduced

to graying photographs,

soiled with age,

reeking of dampness,

stained by misplaced glasses

and creased with thoughtlessness,

ask

quietly

for you

to color them in

with imagination.

Highly Unfocused Habit

I follow the light
as it peeks through
the cracks
creating patterns
on walls
and floors
and crayon drawn girls
who smile
no matter the weather.
It reflects
off framed photographs
creating
double exposed
images.
Letting my eyes unfocus
I create worlds,
beautiful and warm,
until harsh sounds
bring me back
to this day
for now.

The Cinnamon Room

We painted the wall
in cinnamon

to accent the warmth

of our home.

Then added coffee 

colored carpet,

for comfort

no matter the season.

Orange cheddar cheese soup

gurgles on the stove top

sending scents

of beauty throughout.

White snows

finally

cascade down

forcing us from our sloth.

Warm bellies

wrapped in warm clothes

we play until cheeks

glow rose.

Then return to the cinnamon room

for cocoa

and blankets

and popped corn

then closed eyes

and bedtime

and dreams.

Time has passed

-- from P. Wanken's "Alone"

I long
for blinding sun
reflecting
off of white snows.
A sweet agony
to the eyes
soon to be followed
by muffled steps
and heavy breaths
frosting before my eyes
in cold air.
Time has passed
but still
falls rain.