calling amid the
that fall and soak the ground
with the morning light.
just as a backdrop
but a welcoming
I see coming
her subtle hand
in a moment of thankfulness,
on the arcing turn
where it may be
unstable, and precarious to be
on such an edge-
one part cusp and adamant
one part adrift, roaming
to each other-
in this moment of his gratitude
held while leaning
into her arching turn.
A sign I see every day driving to work that warns of the roadway perils became a poem.
I followed the sun
on my walk-about, stepping
into places it had washed over.
Reaching out, only to have it cascade
over my forearm
and cast shadows
-firm footing and echos pairing.
A recurrent arrangement
coupling in a wake behind me.
I’ve planted my gardens, the seedlings are nestled in soil.
Their placement in sunshine and shade impacting the toil
of the growth and the fruit that they bear.
All I can now do is tend to the water and care
of the ground and the branches where the issue resides
and pray that fair weather and gain will intensify.
That one day these young for which I’ve aided and viewed
will grow with abandon, and with their sustenance accrued
plant their own gardens and remember the day
of planting and harvesting love in their own unique way.
Not sure of what to call this yet. And I think it is a sonnet in the making. Right now, though, it expresses a profound sentiment in this poet’s life.