Wearied of Rest

White poppies will sprout
from your bruised wrists,
sleep in the spring rain
let fall your red sun dress.
Waken and invent a face,
the water surrounds you
in movement and glimpse
like a given name until
the sky becomes a body
where we drift in all praise.
Touch closer than blood,
breathe in crushed leaves
as to slowly forgive
the undoing of all we aspire.
__________________________________________________________

New Year in the Park Yard

Wooden rowboats empty onto the stones
as masquerade couples depart for lavish meals.
Snow falls on the pond like a gown of lilies
I brought to you in illness.
Remember?-
The vapors falling like shards of handwriting,
we stumbled in celebration
although I could not bear to speak over
the gold firing of glass balloon canopies.
Fearing gently I still so miss you dear,
in the snowdrift we huddled under my overcoat.
If I could rejoice again beneath your lamp
of votive sun and melted candles
and then live severed from nothing else.