WAITING FOR THE RETURN
his dreams were on the tides of last nights warmth passing over horizons edge past blue diamond stars while the art of years speaks the color of words onto waves washed out never returning the same
his dreams were on the tides of last nights warmth passing over horizons edge past blue diamond stars while the art of years speaks the color of words onto waves washed out never returning the same
rain I got crying wet onto me diamond drops brightened by street lights making the worst appear washed and clean while puddles reflect neon’s as passing footsteps make busy waves disturbing what weeps and gathers from the under surface of heaven to the streets where I walk
a gust of evening wind cools the skin while I follow a path beneath pine boughs and their sweet aroma an opening light of the moon brushes past mists of ghosts stars appear like diamond footsteps pointing toward home as night follows close by my side
Backyard hideaway supporting wings of travel flags turned flat and straight clouds above roll out mercy while angels move swiftly overhead as the earth continues to turn underneath those in need where wishes find passage into the softness of the praying soul discovering gold under the diamonds of eyes full of promise.
silent moonlight brushes silver over my face, as I gaze into infinity of dark the beginning without a bottom. stars compete for my eyes with hanging diamonds and heavens beyond look back at me man in the moon full of cheese, a wink and a half a carpet of chrome … More MY MOON
A gift of words is the magic the key opening clouds healing holds the temperature of the room diamonds rise as leaves fall a newness provides the power like rivers broken stars mend what was lost resurfaces the moon glazes onto meadows with smoothness
There is no unhappiness in a stonewall. Its industrial beauty shrugs with humility. Seasonal wars have no effect on its lines. There is nothing porous about it. The stones once buried within ancient soil are like diamonds and pearls, protecting the perimeter of its birthplace. Fortune blesses the license of its presence each day; a … More ANCIENT LINES
Her hand dipped lazily into the fountain. Cloud shadows drifted over the square, shading tourists and children. Summer was yielding to fall. Orange and yellow drinks, wide brimmed hats and tables with lovers settled into a mild afternoon. The woman at the fountain looked up, shielding her eyes like Cleopatra observing a desert of … More CAPTURED IMAGE
A gauze of filtered light set the pattern of a checkered sun streaming across the table. An uneasy ghost of air plagued the room, circling quietly in an overhead fan then twisting to the floor where it slides into corners, stirring dust and yesterdays webs. A brief summer steals the warmth of August … More INFINITY SKY