The roses were always in bloom,
Rambling along the fence and spilling over
Within reach of small hands.
Picking the perfect small blossoms,
One for each of the boys and one for me,
Pinned to the collars of our Sunday best.
Sitting in the pew, next to our handsome father,
We hear her voice from the choir loft,
Strong and beautiful, with the clarity of the blood
That filled our small hearts.
She sang and we answered, fledgling birds
Still secure in the nest.
Her singing echoes in my soul,
Her song stilled by her choice,
The music no longer her joy.
Today, I will pin a red rose on my collar,
a tribute to her and her voice,
Rose, the music of my life.
Shattered petals fall
Scattered confetti of pink silk
Roses after the rain.
Deep as blood the sap moves
thru the branches to each new bud.
Life reaches forward, upward and out-
life redeems life – a resurrection of now.
Every living thing breathes
the newness and promise of more.
Living is moving -living is seizing the air-
singing molecules of being through each pore,
to the unknown song ,
the holy litany of life.
Relentless against the trees
Turning the leaves inside out
Sounding of the surf roaring to shore
Waves crashing against the rocks
Pounding reverberating in my chest
I am tired of the wind
Weary of the waves
Dragged down by the undertow
I am drowning
In the wind
Drowning in the leaves