Vangogh’s woe

I thought once,
to dance in a field
of Sunflowers with someone
meant that we owned
that painting forever.
But we do not.
The scene painted us,
as it paints all of the others
who dance at sunset,
holding them captive by her brilliant brush strokes.
They are acrylic trespassers into the
lines of gold in
our holy experience.
All things that we have lived,
were only borrowed paintings.
We do not create love after all.
Love always creates us
and puts us on display in her
proudest and most humble


The twins

There is no solace
In returning to
your grave.
You are not there.
And you did not rise
as Christ did to save me.

You rose to save yourself
from the suffocating,
from the madness,
from the numbed anger,
from the lover
you would not tame.

And now,
I bend as a gnarled
ghost haunting
your tomb.
I see nothing but
a hollow hallway
lined with your smile
and my spirit.

If I leave them there,
they will pull me
always, back to
this void of you.
So I will gather them
like twins and
carry them until
they can stand each
on their own.

Until then,
Your smile
belongs to my

And my spirit
belongs to the corners
of your lips.

Rebuilding an empire

My house is smiling
Strawberries in her teeth.
Peony petals in her hands.
Music hanging from her ears.
A crown of children.

Smiles from the westward window as sun drops into
sweet tea glasses
sitting on
warmed wood
farm table.

A crumbled empire rebuilds
with blue sky,
yellow fields,
whispered prayer,
butterfly wing,
And determination.

Nothing is in ruin
that cannot be rebuilt
by a spring day
and submission
to joy.