There's a time
at the beginning
of love

you make
your own
weather

whatever the weather is
it is unfailingly
fine.

The music playing
into my hands
the ink of a poet's pen
too dark for reflection
in uneasy light.

Incognito

words sliced open
spilling sticky syllables.

The rhythmic drip, drip,
dripping of rain from the eaves
blends with constant soft, sweet whispers
of countless drops kissing the leaves.

Rain is looming
Let's walk on the edge
Of dry and wet
Ambulate the flumes.

Though you've been gone for years and the tears have long since dried still your scent adheres to the walls (still empty on your bedside)