Red Amaranth

Between me and the sunset,
the red amaranth
Some neglected seedlings,
tossed out behind the green house, grew.
And grew tall, ruby, majestic.
Nighttime's deep blue
will turn her red to carmine,
The moon's silver thread
will cause her to pour wine across my vision.
We are all
We are all neglected seedlings
tossed out behind the greenhouse
of some imaged heaven
and the Beloved waits.
Waits to see
if we will also grow tall
To see what intoxicating beverage
we will pour out
across the vision of daytime
In the corner of my father's house
there is an old walking stick
Worn smooth from use, polished ebony, black -
Broken.
A hairline fracture
runs the wood grain's shine.
Burnished black against the silver inlay glows
and memories of childhood walks
form and expanse of tenderheartedness.
We are all someone's memories.
Somebody's tenderheartedness;
a bright ebony polished,
even splintered, by the uses of love.
The beloved lives in the silent places,
the tossed out moments,
the derelict ruins.
The Beloved lives there, right beside,
right behind the breastbone.
The beloved lives in the silent places,
the tossed out moments,
the derelict ruins.
The Beloved lives there, right beside,
right behind the breastbone.
The beloved lives in the silent places,
the tossed out moments,
the derelict ruins.
The Beloved lives there, right beside,
right behind the breastbone.