Artist’s Haven


Grant me a deckchair
by the salt of the sea,
bare toes warmed on
sun-washed beach,
and a sky the perfect blue
to paint idle daydreams upon.


Late Love

I, who was born to meet you
May have been given to the world too early
For I catch myself sitting on the park benches alone
On the edge as if leaving a space for you to fill
Quietly daydreaming of strolling
Through the silent places
Your breath a steady exhale
I can only do my best to live a gracious life
So I can meet you in the next
My head held high