universal language of silent contemplation
is where we first met;
Hung up our hats
drunk coffee and chats...
....about nothing in particular

Little ballerina your birthday has passed
Momma will always be here
                                                   Momma's love will last
                Momma won't leave you,
I never will stray away.
Hunny momma is here tommorrow
              Ballerina your
M
   O
     M
       M.                E.        To
          A.            R.                S
             S.        E.                   T
                    H.                         A
                                                   Y.

Baggage within
      trappings of illusions,
love packed away
  in neat little compartments
gathering cobwebs at
     makeshift improvisations,
dusting intermittently
      if by chance a light
           should shine,
never wholly untangling
    the snare
mid a labyrinth of
      transparent entrapment,  
as violin strings continue
      to unlatch the same old key