wet trail of falling

pink and white flower with white background

Drizzle of raindrops
across a broken rose
its sunburnt edges
of yellowing leaves
green grass blades

Drip and drizzle
moves shimmers rolls
plops to another petal
falls drifts streaks wet
trail of falling —

like the trail streak tail
of a comet burning

like the sloshed snow
trailing the skier

like the tear glistens
a trail as it wets the cheek

Slow pour cacophony
of water and pain
that floods and fills
with deep misery
or flushes and flows
with deep catharsis

this wet trail of falling
Deeper
Deeper
Deeper

Into

the unknown

 

 

~Photo Credit:

Photo by Evie Shaffer on Pexels.com

 

One Touch

person holding a flower

~June 2020, for my friend Peter

 

One touch.
Handshake a million years ago
meaning — only
the imprinted energy remained
your signature
written
in the palm of my hand.

One touch.
Brushstroke upon the canvas
meaning — only
that memory would keep you
vivid bright color stroke
painted
in the memory of synapses.

One touch.
Melody rolling across deprived days
meaning — only
that you sang the hours
a song of calming
solace
in a soft whispered breathing.

One touch.
Illusion and Truth and Seeker
meaning — only
that variegated thread of being
runs through us all
weaving
a tapestry of disjointed discovery.

One touch.
Heartbeat tapping ka-thump
meaning — only
we are living moving flowing life
blood body spirit soul
one
essence divided into many.

One touch.
Begging arms reach out
meaning — only
the tears we cry dream dreams
of yearning and growing then
disappear
into a deeper realm.

One touch.
We have this gift
meaning — only
we are this gift
of chance chaos beauty
expanding
to touch one another.

~Photo Credit:

Photo by Valeriia Miller on Pexels.com

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Solace in September

DSC_0563

~September 2019

 

You are a gift given without your knowing —
God’s mysterious hand
using you
to bring me solace in September.

How can your love sing
this strange strong song  —
your voice whispering healing
into my shattered spirit?

Drowning
in the tones and waves and
whispers of lullaby —
I ask myself —

How does love
grow a heart that strong —
Strong enough to send strangers
solace in September?

Happenstance and miracles
grow from the same garden.
I am content to see the orchard —
to know it exists.

 

~Photography Marissa Mullins (c) 2019