Golden blonde tresses drape demure shoulders
as she rides her bike with awkward grace,
her bashful blue eyes shimmer like sapphires—
pure perfection has a freckled face.
Scraped knees and elbows, dressed in hand-me-downs,
her crooked smile struggles with timid twitches,
queen of my heart in a flower crown—
nurtured by ketchup sandwiches.
When Mourning Dawns
All day your name has been
against my mind
and hurt me like the too frail loveliness
of pear blooms in the rain.
All night my voice undefined
has swung from star to star
to call you back.
Tomorrow I will know that you can’t come
and after that I
won’t know anything
but small hard shells against my bare feet
and sand upon my lips at dawn.