You pour your essence into
the inkpot of my soul and fill me so
that you can dip your quill in
and write the poetry of my life
on the canvas of skies.

I have received your secret message;
And sit by the courtyard
awaiting your blessed return
past the procession of stars
endlessly mourning the death of days.

Beloved friend, now it does not matter
whether the blessed dawn is nigh
or an oasis afar.

i will bide my time
here,
with you my
love,
for it was you,

who came with,
the gift of love.
to my barricaded
door
and knocked gentle
and soothed my
unruly mind.

you came with a box, wrapped, in compassion
and tied with, ribbons of joy

and inside...
hope, on the wings
of butterflys.

i will bide with you,
my love,
i will bide with you.

yet we breathe

carrying like medals
tokens of being alive
food clothes
needs more and more
coming in and out of door
sleeping awake
through midlife blues
lost jobs
broken hearts
unkept vows
groping in the dark
dim-lit days
cathartic nights
masked social
torn in the upheaval
tearing within
making poems our ailment's remedy
our ink's flow
a placebo
the poet's might
a myth.

yet we breathe.