Katrina Kaye
Despite the change of pressure in my lungs,
I continue to feel you breathing my air.
We are linked.
You spent too many summers clinging to
the folds of bed skirts to believe your
disappearance is more than mere migration.
The best days of winter are spent in
preparation for the return of spring.
We are well practiced at letting each other go.
We have done it so many times.
Katrina Kaye
The sun aches,
an orange jewel in violet.
We share too many mornings
in silence. All our words
migrate.
The sparrows fled
late this year.
They found it easy
to sleep among windowpanes,
rest in late afternoon sun.
Far too easy to fall from
treetops, when their
time has come.
I grew old
with the ebb of summer,
but my little girl’s smile,
a yellow butterfly,
bright and tender,
shimmered in dawn’s mist.
Fluttering against the blue,
life rustles beside
drying leaves on wilted vines.
There is something so free
about a flirting bird following
its kin as the seasons change.
I caress her flushed cheeks
with hands spotted by time.
These lined lips can not
match her vibrant grin.
It’s time to follow
the sparrows, and leave her
to the fall.
“Migration” is previously published in Trailing Sparrows (2014).
a quick kiss by car door,
pretty lies from parted lips,
a look too long lingered.
these acts may be more gift than vice.
we were windstorm at the door; a dry desert of dust and devils.
i have become bold despite the hitch in my side,
the limp in get up and go.
i am wearing a souvenir:
a too big jangle around boney wrist,
a prize earned from the last match between you and me.
even now before all the whims of the saints,
I can’t help but to stretch out the remnants of what passed.
how can I see these rare gestures as just another sweet sin?
Chasing Rabbits 
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