Skylight

For a skylight in this grey roof,
Climb, through, out.

Into the warm honey of memory,

or soft daisy scented dreams.
Anywhere, away from, the hard,

cold, damp, drizzle slate.
That leaks its Winter into my Summer's heart.

For A Friend

Should you lift your gaze, years hence.

When someone else has made you new,

and you have felt the hurts

come and go.

Your eyes may see a shadow,

and memory's veil will flutter,

and you might sense again,

the one who properly saw you.

You will of course add new books

to old shelfs, because suns

must burn however briefly and

always cast their light.

But listen as you do for

birds in winter, and you

may hear a heart, that

beats in time with your own.

If you cannot see or ever hear,

then happiness has found you.

And although we won't forget,

we each will haved kissed

a future and smiled.

The Translator

I have learned mine can be filled

with artificial light.

By paragraph or painted

observation seeing poetry

in everything.

But for Myself?

The quiet translator.

I wonder how dark I have become,

watching the brightness of other things

illuminate my silent world.