Of late, I wake at night, converse with air
our constant ruminations carry on
we may debate each day from dusk ‘til dawn,
since now your residence is everywhere.
Your lyric voice like Gabriel’s trumpet sounds
though muses rouse, then chide me to forget
our laughter shared or questions of regret
and venturing of subjects with no bounds.
So, e’en in death you tease me into dance
like brown leaf floating lightly on the breeze,
to wrestle fate and waltz with circumstance
in sweet creation find my sorrows’ ease.
To trust the grace of each day’s budding chance
a flower to nurture ’til my winter’s freeze.

 After Thought (for MPS)

Had a bee in my bonnet.
Grabbed a pen and got on it.
Didn’t mean to John Donne it.
But I wrote you a sonnet.