Still

There are times when a flame upon my crown

is not enough

when I would rather be consumed in it

melted down and recast

or again feel a passion of fire willing

to thrust my hand into it

Still

You always have

a table reserved in me

in my empty space cafe

If your face was the sun

I would give my eyes to hold

your gaze

knowing you would be the

last vision into my memory

Blessed is the breeze now

which carries the rhododendron's breath

back to me and memories of

God's kisses locked in the lover's embrace