Starlight, star bright,
How can I reach you tonight?

It's just a patch of moonlight-
square, pale, ghostly beam
peeks through the curtain
onto my bedspread.
I hollow out a space for it
on my mattress.
I open my palm and let the
nightlight hold me.
With this, I sleep.

Daylight, day bright,
How can I bring you delight?

It's just a patch of sunlight-
soft, blurry, prism beams
cascade from the dome of glass
onto my resting place.
I gaze at pinks and purples,
greens and yellows,
scores of rainbow fleets
spilling onto these pages.
I open my palm
and let a white light warm me.
With this, I dream.

When will my love return from the war
she fights in her own heart?
When will my darling turn and see
I have been waiting patiently
for her to simply return to me
and from my side ne’er part?

When will my darling cease and desist
her spirit's self-destruction?
When will my lover place the blame
on the serpent that causes shame
to arise when she succumbs to his game
of building betwixt us obstruction?

When will my lover fight to stay
within my heart forever?
When will my beloved soulmate seize
the empty fillers meant to please
her without sacrifice, with ease,
and abandon me never?

My beloved soulmate’s will,
compared to Mine, is weak.
She cannot help it; this is just
how she was fashioned. She can trust
in my love. But my heart she must
make every effort to seek.

At first I was disappointed
when I saw rain give into sun.

But I looked to the West
and was met with blood orange sinking into the pine.

Blue bled into pink
as charioteers ushered spools of golden fleece
beyond the horizon.

Gray seas hollowed and waned in turn-
slowly, slowly,
cresting and sweeping with yellow foam in their wake.

A deep blue East has carried the precipitation elsewhere,
but the sweet scent of possibility lingers.

Tomorrow, or tomorrow's morrow
may bring the rain.

For now, the sun will do.

The sky was pink cotton candy.
So was his voice.
Pure sugar swirled around itself in wispy strands.
Soft landings for hard truths.
Broken people refuse to be loved.

“I have to go,” he said.
The cotton candy brewed into cumulonimbus beneath his eyes.
It’s not you it’s me.
You’re perfect. I’m an idiot. I’m sorry.
I don’t know what I’m looking for, but I need to find it.
Smooth hesitation.
Rain drops.
Petrichor filled the blue Honda.

She could picture a small cottage,
Somewhere in a forsaken corner in the wilderness of Norway:
Smoke billowed from the chimney.
A lone resident stood near the warm glow of a fire.
The lone man shivered.

“There’s nothing I can do to change your mind.”
Lightning cracked / Splitting heart.
His eyes smoldered with adoration.
He smiled apologetically.
Cotton candy melts when exposed to rain and tears:
Sticky confusion.
“You won’t find warmth if you’re running from the sun.”
Silent plea: please come back if you can.

The man in the cabin shifted suddenly and looked out the window.
Drifting snowflakes – building tufts of cotton candy.
If I can wafted out of the chimney,
Scented with cedar and rain clouds –
Singed with uncertainty.
Tainted cotton candy cannot be restored.

Waiting patiently adorned in white, made clean by a crimson flow. Working diligently in the field, to plant seed, work the ground and bring in the harvest. The bride waits unto perfection, for the day the prince will come to claim his own. A marriage made of sacrifice and labors of love, for some even unto death. Then in a moment appointed, the father sends his son to claim his betroth. Bought by a thing more precious than Rubies, the lord of the house will come with a crown and glory. His bride pure and ready to receive him, as the bridegroom which is Christ comes to bring his Church home.