Seasons from the Porch

Elephant ears don't bloom
here; won't listen for tears
consumed by failing light.

Dreams don't shine through
years--I've hidden life
from this cold porched sight.

Wings don't fly-on--
to the Sun walking-in.
Fear must sing alone.

"Garlins don't trust
  their own shadows"

So whither such worry
wintered in bright eyes.
Once, I was someone
read between white

lies

when sunset whipped 'rizon's
swept-joy under God's sill,
I let-in confidence
to sip sorrowful

silence

Through bitter ends' pale;
sweet instilled air--
grown violent--sweeping

leaves

leant spirit by sweat
the season of melt which births
passion from past-earth

for life's blooms and garlins'
rounds to sing of the dead
bathed in sunlight.

Their shadows will doubt again.