by PM Flynn

(For My Wife)

Our secrets make us who we are:
dew settling on raindrops on a foggy, Valentine
Monday; a light of dawn in each eye as you wake
from holding night inside. Now, you hold mornings
in your dreams and kiss sun and stars on the lips,
faces with red hair and smiles, and hold their hands
to pray.
The wind whispers words only you and the trees
know to say; (our children will follow). It’s not a song
but moments our hearts touch what is deepest:
painting words on green canvas skies, brown trees
drying under yellow, acrylic suns; the space
we share when sleds of time reveal each secret
that brought us here, across the broad street
of a lakeside paradise, or across a table of bread
and wine where moments disappear and heaven
is nearest to our hearts.
After the harvest of all hearts, we will say
“It is no mystery why we love as we do,
and are loved as we are; His light creates
all light and each morning is renewed.”

PM Flynn is a North Carolina writer. He holds a B.S. in English from East Carolina University, roasts organic coffee and has been published in many fine print and online anthologies, newsletters, and literary magazines and reviews including Helen Literary Magazine, the Fictional Café, Main Street Rag, The Grassroots Women’s Project, Port Folio Weekly, The Mirror/Slush, Anti-Heroin Chic, 50 Haikus, Fleas on the Dog Online Quarterly, CactiFur, etc.