If my heart was not a poem

How the thought of your warmth
warms my bones,
though it is
only a dream.

Were it real …

Choral echoes reach deep
as clouds allow the blue to peep
where rain
such cold rain
once ruled the skies.

These choral echoes
float along
as memory
to raise the dead
and bring about the warmth
of your smile.

If my heart was not a poem
written
but a poem touched,
the seed of your life
through this soul’s soil
would blossom.

Were it real …

Red

Don’t ask me its name

I like to sit
look out the window
maybe with a drink
and watch it come to life

it doesn’t last long
as the birds
play around in there
almost hidden

its lower branches are tangled
with the white flowerings
of the bushy tree below
and I can imagine
as the petals
join in a spring romance
blushing to
a pink

but don’t ask me its name
as that would ruin the illusion
so I don’t need to know it
to understand the romance
of it all

and besides
it’s not there long
but when it blooms
so do I

Fragile wisp of spring

Oh delicate blossom
Fragile wisp of spring
A kiss from sun’s butterfly
is enough for you
For you are such a fine thing

Oh delicate blossom
Soft as ember’s ash
Beware the heavy kiss of passion
from the wake of sun’s sloughing
For you are such a temporary thing

Oh delicate blossom
Gentle smile of Gaia
How you caress the arena
the ambiance and the sun’s shadow
For you are such a celestial thing