There are many things I 
love, Lovely; things of which
you haven't the slightest clue--
eyelashes fluttering, wide, like
open fire, lip corners meeting and
teasing upward--
Dear, you cherish my eyes,
but 
you have yet to graze the
Wonder behind.

Words--and pencils--and paper--
all three of them together! Make 
my heart burn rubber. And when
words make sentences that are 
Soul-stirring--my mission has been
carried boldly--smiles, relaxing.

Lovely.

Journals, leather bound and lacking that
one thing they need--writing heavy--and then
filling-all-the-way-to-the-top-Beauty--
running fingers over engraved markings--why?
because they're mine, and they take up space,
Like I'm taking up space, my words, thoughts,
everything of me that you don't see,
filling something up--
Becoming.

Lovely. 

Birds, from words to life, soaring pages,
From their two-legged-hopping or
shade-sitting (unbothered by my
Approaching)-- tall-standing on wire stretching
all across vast places, like picture-taking, 
To--deeply breathing--wings outstretched, passion
flying, low, high, all over, and eventually 
landing;
safety.

Lovely. 

The sky, baby-blue, radiating,
holding the universe in place, 
light cracking through shadows and amorphous crevices, 
reminding of life and the wrinkle of time that
I've been gifted with which to live, to write--
Fingers clenching, joints popping, 
Grasping onto good-moments, like holding onto wind--
And open to an empty palm, nothing;
Life slips through, changing,
Like sand through finger-spaces;
But what I cherish hides
Between the lines.

Lovely.

Driving, seatbelt clicking, un-parking,
leaving everything normal, into extraordinary;
safe inside, protected, but
moving all the same--to somewhere
different, new, someplace worth exploring,
worth, later, about telling--Copying, word-putting.
Watching trees and skies and lives go by,
dust flying at tires, radio blaring loud or
singing silence--even sitting in Passenger seating,
Breathing, capturing, and--going, going, going--
gone.

Lovely. 

There are many things I 
love, Lovely; things of which
you haven't the slightest clue--
eyelashes fluttering, wide, like
open fire, lip corners meeting and
teasing upward--
Dear, you cherish my eyes,
but 
you have yet to graze the
Wonder behind.