Artificial Angels

Symbols I sew with lilies can’t compare–
stems shrivel, petals rust, and roots will die–
but you who inks my pen will never dry–
when drizzles damper, still you’re always there.

Your flattery excites the tide I ride–
they venerate lame hands to dance again–
your eyes open and lap each seed I spread–
they offer life beyond the womb inside.

The season’s labor great distance portend
another year denied our chance to meet–
I gnash the morsels picked off from the screen
but appetite can’t survive the portions.

The farmer plows each day but never reaps–
I share my fruit but still hunger for meat.

Happy birthday, Katie.

A rose without a thorn was never found
beneath the sky, above the sea, but when
I met you, conceptions collapsed. Profound
in love with humble heart, I found a friend.

Your petals pampered broken skin. Famine
was ended by the manna poured from lips
that spoke no charade or malevolence,
but love I swallowed- the solar eclipse.

The Grail you bear will never age. No shift
in time nor span of space nor turn of pace
has rust the gold or cracked the frame. Uplift
the Ark, the heart remains – alive – ablaze.

Oh, green-eyed angel, all the seeds you’ve sown
have bloomed. With them I build for you a throne.

The storm recedes but not the damage. Words
have salted soil, silence has whithered fruit.
The trees are stones as hearts made cold by a-
cid rain from stingy clouds and selfish games.
The desert reigns this des’late place. No life
remains. All crushed by falling bridges. But

I birth new life from death. The broken bridg-
es fuel new fire and clears away old brush,
rejuvenates the frozen earth with warmth.
The wounds the plots to cast new seed, pink petals
to mend the wounded, thorns to prick the snakes
who smuggled sin inside this holy place.

The Babel tower bursts from mustard seeds
and smothers the world in its canopy.