When will the words that spill
from pen step aside to the native inside?

The brimming pronouncements
do not carry the heart as do
the foreign sounds
that claim they are indeed original
yet the thinkings remain clattering away in latin
inching forward to express
what too many words
cannot feel


i saw her

nestled in cream

and frilly icing

i saw her

plain and overlooked


i smelled the heady scent of possibility

i inhaled the dizzying fragrance of fantasy

i heard her piqued protests

her soft and thought-filled hmmms

her escalating laughter

her stifled tears

her silent sighs

only a welcome phone call away

only a night’s drive away

only an arm’s length away

yet never held

just beheld.