Fake tears fall
From tiny bottle
Until real ones come
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Author Archives: aperture
Tell the bees
May the goodwoman
Blaze the trail
To the honey box
Knock gently twice
Tell the bees
The whisperer is gone
May they carry on
Sound the gong
Plausible
Plot twists down slinky pole
Like ivy gone wild
Parched dry stone wall
Tips stretch limbs
A divining stick
Precious lick of droplet
Curtain falls
Cool shower soothes
Sting of unseasonal
Summer burst
How to say, thirsty, is all
Ivy, though clinging, choking kind
Something renaissance about it
Ivy league, why?
Look down from chest to feet
All that hides between
Not so incongruous are we?
Tower bell strikes harmoniously
Synonym of ceremony
Meringue gown falls
Layers of royal icing kind
Not my style anymore
Since dawn erupted
Relentlessly upon eyelids
Call to arms silenced
Love does a number on us all
Down to only one
Sound the gong
Midden mortar
Two seeds
Which one to water
Who could know
What it will be
So tiny, two leaves
Open the flower
Scent on the breeze
Wait and see
Which one are we?
In the end
We all become stories
~ Margaret Attwood
My secret garden
Urgently wish
To kiss you
Instead, waited years
Climbed high mountains
To coincide with
Long-held promise
Of blooming again
Tell tales
Tell tales of far off lands
Highest heights
Ravenous lowlands
Vying for a taste of skin
Flying, gliding, whip of wind
Nestled in the cove of calm
Gentle word to do no harm
Rubble
I barely remember the wall coming down
Though tender renowned
Perestroika and glasnost
My Minsk pen pal
Whom I nearly visited
If not for that iron curtain
A downed air plane
VHS player was their request
For duty free on the plane
From a 10 year old
Broken wall boundaries
Parenting –
Though missed a trip
To America
With my swim club
Too young, they guffawed
Knotts Berry Farm
Apparently more dangerous than
Newly formed USSR.
Borne
Beauty is beheld
On breezy shores
Stranger smiles
Open doors
Strings course
Over fragile skin
Time is worn
Borne within
Count the stars of heaven 