could i just make a candle of you
to burn your essence
around me
sheaths of fire marigold

to bask in the spiral twirl
of your silken smoke rings

burning mail and twigs
and memories on torn paper
tequila wine skinny dippin time
in the shelter of fallen zinnias

waning moon whispers
a song we’re sure our mother sang
cloaked in lantana buzz the unlikely
harbor of night

liminal times

downtown memphis
walking home
heels in hands

I fell
on an unhoused neighbor
under cardboard
and the peabody hotel dryer vents

startling him awake of course
I held his face in my hands
and kissed him
square on the mouth

I said “sorry I ruined
your R.E.M”,
and he said “baby
you are the dream”

walking in nyc ~ 2014

530 park avenue
friendly doorman says
“how you?”

subway man serenades
“when the night
has come….”
and i sing back
“and the land is dark…”

west 59th
tiny clandestine park
“my friend left me an envelope”…
she tells the listener
on the only bench

little italy construction
site, sunflower
has survived,
a forgotten morsel
tell me, what

to bloom…
to be the one

Marilyn is a storyteller in the southeast, employing many mediums, mostly poetry.  she can be found with her nose to lichen or drawing down the moon.