#AmericanWriters
Lying, thinking Last night How to find my soul a home Where water is not thirsty And bread loaf is not stone
Beloveds, now we know that we know… Without notice, our dear love can… In the instant that Michael is go… Though we are many, each of us is… Only when we confess our confusion…
I note the obvious differences in the human family. Some of us are serious, some thrive on comedy. Some declare their lives are lived
The sun has come. The mist has gone. We see in the distance... our long way home. I was always yours to have.
There is no warning rattle at the… nor heavy feet to stomp the foyer… Safe in the dark prison, I know t… light slides over the fingered work of a toothless
The night has been long, The wound has been deep, The pit has been dark, And the walls have been steep. Under a dead blue sky on a distant…
There are some nights when sleep plays coy, aloof and disdainful. And all the wiles that I employ to win
Your skin like dawn Mine like musk One paints the beginning of a certain end. The other, the end of a
A free bird leaps on the back of the wind and floats downstream till the current ends and dips his wing
When you come to me, unbidden, Beckoning me To long-ago rooms, Where memories lie. Offering me, as to a child, an att…
A Rock, A River, A Tree Hosts to species long since depart… Mark the mastodon. The dinosaur, who left dry tokens Of their sojourn here
We, unaccustomed to courage exiles from delight live coiled in shells of lonelines… until love leaves its high holy te… and comes into our sight
You drink a bitter draught. I sip the tears your eyes fight to… A cup of lees, of henbane steeped… Your breast is hot, Your anger black and cold,
A last love, proper in conclusion, should snip the wings forbidding further flight. But I, now,
Beloved, In what other lives or lands Have I known your lips Your Hands Your Laughter brave