Go Easy. I havent written a poem for years. I lost the art writing Lit Crit.
when the sun shines,
my heart aches with the heady perfumes of Spring.
when it is Winter and night,
and the sky is clear and visible,
I seek out signs that precipitate desires,
that suggest an order to hope.
in the street,
I seek out lucky pennies
to wish on
and I wish magpies a good day,
whenever I see less or more than two.
I hoard my luck.
no games of chance,
even flippant bets to hit the waste paper bin are passed up.
I hold my breath,
the pennies held tightly in my hand,
to be spent with you.
And hope as well,
I save my hope like luck,
a precursor to the real
and not lost and frittered away.
My hope is a declaration of action,
an emptying of the blue from the sky
into my lungs and life,
open and ready.
because without you
leads to with you
and without is presence
banishing fear of nothing
with the potential for everything;