They do not fall,
these hearts of glass, suspended
between frost and flame—
they ache for a hand that will
not come, or one waiting, still.
Brief— a silent pause.
Deep within, the heart responds,
as stillness permits.
Faded zinnia—
a letter I meant to send,
rests in silence.
Each dawn you arrive,
persistent in grayscale light—
gone again by dusk,
still, you teach me love endures
not in time, but in return.
April in my heart—
a saxophone croons soft notes
through yesterday’s sky;
and though time carries me on,
your memory keeps its tune.
I know what love is—
like the moon pulling at tides
it will never hold.
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