Thieves pledge

to return love,

those having

suffered in love

trust the silence. 

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Under blue sky of dusk, 

the wish for purple hue of dawn. 

One yellow drop to fall

through a thousand yellow drops, 

slow as a final breath drawn. 

Tired and road weary,

day on day now month on month. 

Eyes close and I’m home. 

No mountain view, 

no crystal waters 

yet lakes the scene. 

Autumn pulls on winter, 

and I see the last of green. 

Still the water 

where depth abides, 

willows tresses  

sweep the shore. 

Free as wavelets 

are thoughts to roam, 

line beside the line before. 

Mind to mind, 

love sparked in stone. 

Burning wicks of gold, 

grace lights dusk 

and paths are shown. 

Catch stitch on cross-weave,

stitch thread runs invisible.

Muslin fold to fold. 

I’ve yet

To be left

Without 

A goodbye. 

Whistler whistling

“Come here, 

Come here”, I hear.

“How?”, I ask.

Come as a verse, 

Bring rhythm 

To the beat 

Of this heart.