Poems and One-Shots

Your Poetry

Your poetry colors my dreams.

I can't remember the words,

Only the awe

For things that in my waking hours

I know you never wrote.

But still I remember the cocoon of words.

How can you be real if you only appear in my poetry

And in my fuzzy, half remembered dreams?

Who are you that your hair is softer than mine,

That your words (at least the ones you share)

Are more tender than mine,

More Shakespeare, fewer bullet holes

Than mine?

Could you, my most faithful muse,

Exist in some paint and paper cluttered house

That I could touch and see

If it weren't for miles and miles of sagebrush

And a thousand unmade decisions?

We shall have to see

If your light and your shadow

Is so tangible in person

As it is on the page.