I hope you knew
That I loved you,
that you made me laugh
on the dreary days.

I hope you knew
That I admired you,
how you faced each challenge
with poise and strength.

I hope you knew
That I was inspired by you,
your bravery and courage
in times of turmoil.

I hope you knew
that I respected you,
for your tenacity
in breaking barriers.

I hope you knew
that I am grateful to you,
for always being there
and soothing my sorrow.

I hope you knew
what you meant to me.

Midst the tossing and turning of a restless night,
Imagination takes up glorious flight;
Probing for a rhyming pattern new and unique
Or for word choice that our generation will seek.
New stories to give to people both young and old,
Strategic sentences or curious words bold.
Tales of peaceful love or tempestuous passion,
Tripping lyrics of envy or sweet compassion.
A blank space of desert so barren and dreary,
Or mountainous heights to climb; broken, and weary.
A soul full of color but buried deep in dust;

One for sorrow
Eyes weeping with false hope
Shattered glass heart of my window-stained heliotrope
Two for joy
The eyes I meet attending tapping shoe laces
Happy glittering of bejeweled faces
Three for girl
Golden dresses pressed with trembling fingertips
A stained-lipped smile dripping youthful ignorance
Four for boy
Clouded head beneath a dark sky of hair
War-torn mind brimming with hope and despair
Five for silver
The harp strings that grow like weeds
Atop my crown from feathered farmer's seeds

It’s not fair
You were too young
too gentle
too kind.

It’s not fair
I won’t get to celebrate
your birthday
a few days before mine.

It’s not fair
We were the same age
yet I will see
a spouse, children
you will not.

It’s not fair
You left behind
two parents
lost in grief.

It’s not fair
No one will see
the sparkle in your eyes
or your charming smile
anymore.

The path once so bright
Now hidden from sight
Is not to be seen
Behind its own screen
I crave the white light
Luminescent sight
I reach out my hand
"Right now!" I demand
And then I fall down
I scrape myself brown
And trust I do not
This can't be my lot
This dreary old way
Upon which I lay
Not fit for my feet
No, not even meet
I thought myself good
But there as I stood
I fell down again
Broken in my pain
I cried out in fear
"Lord why am I here?!"

Once upon a time
you traded nickel and dime
for an island on the sea
The man who palmed your pay
was reluctant to say
if it was within reach
You scratched your head
and then you plead
you'd do a better deed
Sir, if you could
well, then you should
come to paradise with me
He screamed voilà
without a pause
and praised his memory
Miss, it's way out there
with briny air
and citrus on the breeze
It made more sense
to send for him
once you'd found your feet

I watch with wary eye the perched crow,
Though his movement be idle,
As his black beaded eyes lust for company,
Empathy another binding title.
He opens his sharp tongued beak
To speak of other grackle,
With which he fights for sky;
My approval he hopes to tackle.
Black breast reflecting the sun,
-Won over once by mischievous eyes-
Bejeweled face with obsidian,
A meridian left of tears and lies.
I call upon his wings to rest,
Breast beating with uncertainty,

He crawled in and curled up.

“Come out,” she said.

“I am like a pill bug. Or a hibernating bear. Oh, fine," he said. "I can at least lie on the other bed for a while.”

So Aggie and Jed lay on the separate mattresses as the rain slashed against the window. He settled his arms under his head.

“I did,” he said, “once like someone.”

Aggie rolled towards him. “Ah.”

“It took me so long to be able to say even that, though.”

Happy Birthday
good evening
the trees are
rustling
a canopy above me
a waxy, flickering
filter of light
and he forgot
your toast
and I often wonder
of the sound of your voice
and the lick of your tone
because somehow I feel like I know
or I’ve heard
your loveyous
and mornins
so when
we spoke
I hope you didn’t mind
the words we said
rooted in disbelief
at what you did
but reclining
back into kindness
because after all
it is the day

Rosy feathers flutter,
Like excitable jazz hands,
And little scaled feet tap
A rhythmic beat,
Hopping from place to place.
He flitters with a song,
Trilling melodic tunes
From his rounded beak,
With a loud mouth for a small thing.
He is hard to catch,
A pink breasted finch
Too restless to sit still
And a habit of shy confidence.
But in my dreams I hold him still
And stroke his soft feathered head
As he sings sweetly,
A chirp of adoration,
A fowls appreciation.