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.