Future Selves

Strung, as crystalline beads
On a fine gold thread
Our days
One by one together
We charted a more kind pattern
Planned

Colors, something beautiful
All our own
To be complete
Tied with an unbreakable knot
This time
Worn boldly and proud

But for the masked marauder
Disguised as difficult conversation
Arriving in broad daylight
Ripping this treasure from us
A new family heirloom
We’d have created

Host

Continue to do this
Come here
Trash-picking

Ignoring the treasure in your shoes

Until such time you find

A quiet mind and deep desire
To finally meet
Yourself
In all those better angels who’ve asked you
Won’t you dance
A different dance

Green

And when we’re nearly ninety-nine

Fading, yet certain of our fate and the love it made with us

Green still, relatively so

We’ll walk, treasuring the sands, the time

Consider Instead

I want at once to show you

All of what I know of the day 

The real-deal of it, how harsh it can be

How often, if we don’t look close

It presents as something to be endured

Suffered through, something to be wished

Away

This morning seemed that way

Then in a instant, struck me as instead

Commissioned 

So be it, I say 

Notice now the grandeur of it

A delicacy to be treasured or consumed

Have it your way 

Either way, notice the gold

The encrusted shell of jewels

A Fabergé gift it is, to be opened

An outrageous little surprise inside

A sly creature, crowned in your birthstone

Peering out a tiny window 

White it rains diamonds

Inside

The Light Tender

In the deep, dark depths of the back of the closet,
Was the blue dress long abandoned.

Encouraged to remember its flounce and its flow,
I grabbed hold of a lamp
And decided to go
Find it again
Or get lost trying.

So what that I did get lost?
I found it hanging there -still nice.
And it fit and I wore it all day today,
Reaching down at my feet occasionally
To pick up the pieces that kept falling
From the hemline. Not a bad thing.

Holding them in my hands,
I recognize the pieces
As opportunities
To proclaim how I love:

The secret delivery of art as I peek from behind the curtain;
The tears that you leak, that I’ll never stop reaching to catch;
The laughter contagious, or the snapshot of it;
You, in red, refusing to wear the green I chose for you; and,
Me, as I keep collecting pieces of blue.