tulips, roses root in morning gardens,
untangling memory's mesh.
mute lives bound in words,
old songs in the wind,
magic circles drawn in rhyme.
She weaves a tale of tulip poplars,
the invasion of kudzu along our fence,
and how norway elm hollows and falls
without notice, chance enough
to kill children (mother's worst dream).
bring your urn of grace.
unbind its ashen repose,
forgive my dark faith finding light,
my habits encoded in DNA
biding time for a last embrace,
where the stars behold
the pilgrimage and its end.
lead me to the mountain trails
where the stones don't cry,
past the doorstep of orphans,
in the room of many dreams,
let me be your mirror's gentle spy.
copyright 2011 Charles David Miller
Tuesday, June 7, 2011
belated wedding poem