For you, the one who told me that we came from stars.
Somehow
I am caught up
Remembering our laughter
In the shadow like half darkness
Of our orange flowered room.
Your stories were the calm
In the storm.
Your songs
Muted out all else
Drawing me in
To the sanctuary
Of their melody.
We often left
That little nest
Two sit out and watch the stars
On a summer night.
Sometimes they seemed so close
Shimmering like
Fireflies. I
used to think that the Greek gods and godesses
Were watching us from the cavernous sky
Waiting to turn us into muses.
Or into stars
On summer nights.
J. Hamilton
Blooming in December,
Golden Petals
On a thin branch
Where wintering birds
Normally perch
Waiting for bread crumbs to spill through
The holes in shallow pockets.
For a moment
It seems
That the sun has warmed the earth again
The soil
Under my feet
Soft
And
I think spring has returned in the yellow giddy
Blooms,
And in the trickle of a stream
Near by.
How strange it seems
That winter has embarked here quietly
Waiting to blanket the garden
Soon
And to lull the new blooms to sleep.
J. Hamilton
The afternoon sun needs a place
To fall.
Its hands greet the treed horizon
And the stream dotted with geese
Below.
December cools my skin
Yet the embrace of sun
And an unfrosted landscape
Make me want to stand
In its light a little longer
-surrounded by long grasses
And tangles of weeds and twigs
Around my feet.
I feel small again
Giddy
Having wandered off path
But having found my own sacred earth
-untamed
And wondrous. J. Hamilton