It’s neither red
nor sweet.
It doesn’t melt
or turn over,
break or harden,
so it can’t feel
pain,
yearning,
regret.

It doesn’t have 
a tip to spin on,
it isn’t even
shapely—
just a thick clutch
of muscle,
lopsided,
mute. Still,
I feel it inside
its cage sounding
a dull tattoo:
I want, I want—

but I can’t open it:
there’s no key.
I can’t wear it
on my sleeve,
or tell you from
the bottom of it
how I feel. Here,
it’s all yours, now—
but you’ll have
to take me,
too.

Her eyes were hard
And his bitter
As they sat and watched
The fire fade
From the ashes of their love. 
Then they turned
And saw the naked autumn wind 
Shake the bare autumn trees, 
And each one thought
As the cold came in—
........‘‘It might have been”........

The dawn has no tint of rose, 
   Or scent of violet,
And noon brings no sweet repose 
   To grapple with regret.

                      •

Who has taken the stars, 
   Which gave a bashful light,
Between the age-worn scars 
   Of the eternal night?

                      •

I am a humming sea shell, 
   You are a boundless sea,
Your lovely lyric waters 
   Flow on and under me.

                      •

Today is the day of love, 
   Tomorrow may not be, 
So live our lives as we may
   And trust eternity.

                      •

Give me your stars to hold 
   O sky of blue delight, 
Your moon of laughter gold
   To diadem my night.