This willow weeping reaching for dark earth, rich soil promise of deep life
Author: Elizabeth Maynard
Dealer
The magic, of course lies in the miniscule I need only taste you once
Flight
Take me home tonight great silver bird wings above a sea's gray embrace
Logical Consequences
Consequences, logical of misplaced affection: this trembling sadness and hopes dissapointed The reason I wield to tell myself I knew better now only so much bitter balm
Shanghai Aphrodite
Rose wet-dripping from the Huangpu light step upon the skiff, the barge and now dark shadows mark where each foot kissed stone
Lovely
I think you lovely and twirl this curiosity between stiff fingers In another time it is myself I would have twisted to win your love
Angel
If death's angel comes tonight sweeps with long skirts here she will find me gentle every dish washed each towel folded marvel that I am ready as if waiting for the knock that summons the next life
Sigh
This sigh dissolves all my heartsick wounded fretting glacier to meadow
Tuesday
The reinvention of Emily Wren began Tuesday, 2:17 p.m. She couldn't see it coming but when any of us is that lonely for that long this universe has no choice but to meet and mend and launch us out again across the vast expanse of days
Your Birthday
When you were alive I read your horoscope in the paper each morning for a sign you might love me that waiting and holding my breath would be rewarded We see where my hope led us but through the veil you promise: There is more love ahead than behind
This Verse 