Shards of Blue

children peer in nests
observe treasures
blue notes
an ecstasy of anticipation
emergence
an appearance
a mystery arrives
a hatching to ensue...

fertility in eggs

vanished
a hasty vernal exit
an empty bowl of sticks
remnant feathers
an abandoned pillow
distressed
ruddy breast
cracked
shards of blue
an end before a beginning
a falling before Spring
a death before birth
when you left.

Cellared

Dusted off the claret
a vintage from another time
held her in my hands and stared
imagining her taste and rhyme...

The label still bright and vivid
the shape of the bottle fine
the fill, the neck, the lace like foil
all spoke of nectar divine.

But that wine required returning
to the rack from whence it came
to pass more years of ripening
and so nearly drunk remain.

The feast postponed indefinitely
the concubine on hold
venal thirsts and hungers cellared
to await a nobler mold.

Storm-tossed Heathen

Passage

The drifts
exist
in exile.

Stocked in shady niches,
clinging to a fleeting existence.
Drifts of a season
drifts of a reason
the purging white winter of our love
replaced by the thatch
of the prison of the past
woven in
to birth and new life
thereof.

Here we do wait.
Here it is over.
Here it begins
and ends
and begins.

Straddling the razor
pierced by the zenith
holding what it was
what it is
and what it always will be.
What is promised.
What is born
what is lived
and is dead.

Yesterday’s drifts,
today’s trout lilies,
and soon
soon
soon
the stinging nettles
of regrets.