She walks in the garden that grows
between day and night and harvests
bouquets of the perfect light.
She presses tongues into crystal
blue blooms with golden centers that
light the full moon.
She plants the seeds of dreamers
in the soils of time and grows them
for the askers by singing in rhyme.
She cultivates shooting stars, filling
them with love and sprinkles them
across the sky giving hopeful eyes
wonder of the above.
She finger paints compassion on
the dark side of truth and coats
it with sun until peace is reproduced.
She, the keeper of our garden, weeds
the thoughts of mind so the veins
of commonality are ours to find.
The Poets Cut
I adore this reading, it has the most plays of the spoken word pieces I have recorded and published on Soundcoud.com. I do not often record readings of my poems, though I immediately know those that demand my voice be added and I always comply. This came after a profoundly impactful night of imagery during sleep. Although the topic, tone and tale of "The Keeper" is quite different than the shadows that arrived in my dreams that were the prompt it somehow was the most articulate clarity I could give to describe the time I slept with my demons that night.