We drift in fickle wind
with a foretaste of wild roses,
it shakes rain from cedars
while underfoot, moss absorbs
truth in deep silence,
planting us firmly.
Hear, know I love you -
let it grow and speak
in whispers, gently drying
scattered seeds of kisses
over your face,
and later, as we fall asleep,
in arms like the
familiar scent of home,
let it hold you, let it calm you;
voiced, like musk within your hair.

Joyce 
























77 old applause
