You dip your toe into poetry’s waters,
but never seem to get wet
Pretense showing, your measure unknowing,
the surface as good as it gets
Into the depths where fear leaves a shadow,
you stare with eyes conjoined
The moment upon you, time has been stopped,
to dive—your soul purloined
(Villanova Pennsylvania: September, 2020)
Unto Thee
One last day to suffer,
as silence endures
One new day engendered,
to motion toward
A musical seamstress,
to stitch me back whole
A lyrical consort,
inscribed to behold
Each word as my seed,
laying fertile the plain
Each phrase lost and orphaned,
my spirit reclaims
That breath once bespoken,
new hope to set free
That voice reawakened
—whose soul unto thee
(The Book Of Prayers: April, 2020)