your words

are printed in my poetry

I quote you

when I don’t even mean to.

I, miss, you,

and I don’t know

what

to-do

with

that.

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we’re all just hands

trying to keep fragile things together

stitching wax paper houses

around small pulsing embers.

the beautiful thing is…

invisible treasures

hold weight

they have power in their own right.

love. peace. compassion.

togetherness.

they build on themselves.

garden in the city

she wore a mustard yellow skirt in a grey city,
watercolored the streets a pale yellow as she crisscrossed
gliding from subway to skyscraper to sandwich shop

his bright blue slacks were sky against white washed buildings
which stood heavier than clouds
window panes neither filled with rain nor rainbows

they met at the corner of watsons and holmes
somehow they managed to spill into each other
though the traffic lights weren’t on their coffee break

their colors splattered against the crosswalk
stained each other at the intersection
buds of green grass were planted everywhere that day


half & half – 50% seen, 50% imagined
9.15.17, O., J., Planet Earth, Milky Way

“love liberates”

Love liberates. It doesn’t bind. Love says, ‘I love you. I love you if you’re in China. I love you if you’re across town. I love you if you’re in Harlem. I love you. I would like to be near you. I’d like to have your arms around me. I’d like to hear your voice in my ear. But that’s not possible now, so I love you. Go. – Maya Angelou