The candle's flame
flickering in its bowl,
flashes a butterfly's shadow
upon the wall.
Its patterned wings flutter.
The rim of the bowl
curves the butterfly's wings
making an arched span.
Simple in beauty, hovering on the wall,
complex in specifics,
I admire its beauty
until a gust of wind
extinguishes the butterfly's flight
(it's soul rises up, pours into the sky, and
- ► 2017 (95)
- ► 2006 (17)
- two fathers
- I did not appreciate her until I left. I did not k...
- The Candle's Flame
- A shower in the summertime
- The pillar supports its building, withstanding the...
- The Tempest
- The mute sits under a tree drinking her tea as the...
- born to catch butterflies on her tongue
- Running toward the blackened horizon, the sky is n...
- Her white skin, pure, soft, lightens the night. Br...
- Mother's Ashes
- a letter
- Tonight, my mind meandersthrough the pages of my s...
- Lying face down in the grass, my face is moist. De...
- With ebony hair, black skin offsets tight, dark cu...
- Laurel, MT
- watching my mother in the morning
- For Claire
- The sun will rise over an array of houses, spread...
- If I look closely, with my head pressed to the ...
- The softness of every summer night, for the rest ...
- late one night
- Rain begins to fall. I hold her in my arms. The...
- C'est la vie
- ▼ February (29)