Hold sacred
each other,
not rituals,
not sites.   


I Wish Poem

I wish for the mundane,
to walk under the sky,
to stroll the trampled path,
as stoic trees move by.

I wish for one more time,
to see the blue bird fly,
to sit aside the brook,
and hear it babble by.

I wish I could go back,
to smell the cooling sky,
give way to twinkle stars,
and feel the chill inside.

I wish for one more night,
to turn and see your face,
to lie there side by side,
and have your warm embrace.

I wish I could relive,
our carefree forest day,
when time stopped ticking by,
as side by side we lay.

I wish for the mundane,
to be alive again,
completely unaware,
that everything must end.

The Place of Memories Made

Muted sounds and snowball rounds,
arranged along the ledge,
are readied for the battlegrounds,
that lie beyond the hedge.

Abandoned angels in the ice,
lie frozen in the scape,
while from the window billow smells,
of breakfast meals baked.

Soon the sun will melt this stage,
where kids in mittens played,
erasing all the traces in,
the place of memories made.