Spools of wavy tendrils in raven
Shouldered hair a smooth photogenic
face like a pebble caressed by the

silk mirrored stream. Eyes delightful,
vulnerable, beautiful spirals and walnut
choclate eyes with silky Beetle leg

lashers. Who knew she was a complete
Pyscho? five foot nothing full of hate neglect
a kitchen handle wedged in my chest a punch

from the devil a cruel curve breaking her face
satisfied my soul drifting away into the next plain.
She took my fading light that never shined like

Out in the country,

You’ll see them flock together,
I’ve seen the sandhill cranes pass,
In groups of three, often many more,

Curious and primeval,
With a guttural bugling
That signals all, of their presence.

You’ll notice them high in the sky,
Barely within eyesight,
Or just passing overhead,

Flying to their habitual nightly roost.

These ancient birds, seemingly unafraid,
of any impending danger,

I dreamed an Angel came to me
Wings as dark as night,
Eyes that sparked like diamonds,
Teeth of hound dog white.

Each night I see this angel
No words she speaks to me,
Enfolds me in her soft black wings
Breathes soft warm sleep on me.

Soft wings that hold me gently.
Full breasts that feed me life.
Smooth hands with nails like talons.
They pierce me as a knife.

In dreams alone I see her
Feel her sit astride.
Then I awake in anguish,
Alone. None by my side.

Half past midnight on this black night.
All is quiet, perhaps too quiet, as a little
noise might be a welcome diversion.

Your pillow resting just below the sill,
still unoccupied as it has been for
three long weeks, nearly four.

Your letter, just two short lines,
said you needed space but you
would phone. The wait continues.

I don't know where you are and
I'm not sure you know either.
Patience is a virtue; but not mine.