I write poems About lovers That I will never know Because Love is Only one thing Spilling out Of my soul. And if I learn How to hold It Cup it, Give it, Then maybe I will be A more loveable Lovely Person And maybe The world Will hold More love In my wake.

Fresh grass sprouted through the mud Observe the world, the cattails and egrets These hopeful yet endless stretches of sea I hear, "It was impossible," Only gray patches of sky blink through The late morning Your motive twisted tightly like a whip The tall grass is difficult to paint Do you see this meadow dying under storm cells? Have I disappeared like a bark beetle? Blending into the furrowed trunk of an oak I had once thought, "I will never live like that." I hear, "I'm n