I dabble my pen
into swarming letters...
Like all the men
I've ever adored...
The tide rises and it falls,
Tame, yet escaping through wrinkled floors...
I've been skipping the sidewalks
of my latter poems...
Beneath the sheets ----
between the s i g h s of dreamers...
Who are we but lost souls who walk this earth
Once scattered in the torrid wind now hastens in...
I'd like to gather my poems
and scatter them...
It is not Christmas eve no more
I wish it was Christmas always...
There is nothing for me to forgive;
I hold no resentment, no anger, no disdain...
When you are humble
and down to the earth, there is...
Another poem asking for the impossible.
Another night wishing you were here...
In you, I have found dandelions
a multitude of times...