The outlined trees by the rivers edge
curl with the rays of the sun and river light
in angelic orbs
and dandelion seeds
My enclosed heart space sends a large number of echoes
her way as the walls and the air and pheasants shrills
absorb the sounds.
Every flower I photograph has her essences
my hesitation to press petals
in my book because the distance is great.
Sounds never diminish
only linger larger outside deaf ears
Where the white dove hears
and carries one strand of her hair
releasing it on the tendrils bending in the wind
How do I begin?
when she cannot be near to these visions
I walk through coveted realms of borrowing lilacs
and the fragrances I wish to share?
Fall in small particles
one pollen puff of illusion
my pulse says trudge forth and gather the failing lights
on the crumpled pages
Her recent wounded is deep
she works to forget and hardly sleeps
keeping her suitors well fed with silent words
and images of hope and truths
painted within her eyes
I scope the opening blossom
this is my