soft edges


when you talk to me
i lose my breath

and love the losing
the letting go

you bring me smiles for breakfast
and poet paintings
with my sunsets

and you have me wondering
what sweet payment
i could possibly
tender

in tender return...

my gypsy heart wears colors i cant describe
but think of the edge of twilight
that lays like a lover down the sides of trees
by a frozen lake

the way night weaves into the forest and
slowly dances the day away

the pink
the lavender

the midnight

can i give you this?

the part that is left here?

little bits of me... still sparkling

soft edges
and

desire.




sawdust


who ever thought
i could find

poetry

in a pile of shavings
left
scattered on the stone?

or romance
in the curve of a wooden seat
still raw-edged
and rough?

the mud on the sidewalk
caked on the shoes you left behind

a shovel left leaning
in just the right spot

ah
these are the bits
that make the heart swell

the evidence of care
real enough

to sit upon .



- Tia Finn 2001