Milkweed

Beneath the meadow milkweed
my heart meanders meaningfully
as I turn year by year to driftwood
The doves fly south 
when the iron angels sigh.


The rain is my only lover,
she covers me like a willow
lift the grief
fight for release
I am not suited for the down low.
I dared you as a child,
I pushed you up against the wall.
You raised the anti in return,
not a sound as tear drops fall. 


Please take my hand Adeline
lead me past that sad November,
and the rain carries memories
too heavy to remember.
They pierce the skin of faith.
They burn the flesh to embers,
while pressing on my tell tale scars,
pain and pleasure make my words limber.