First Belief

The act of love
Is your belief.
We will grow into earth.
We can become one garden
With a million blooms of impulse.
When our lips wear thin
We will give up the things
We do not need
To find the thing we want.
May we never miss
The other's first smile.

Diana Cuts and Holds

It is her hair,
Wild as branches
As it whips in the breeze,
Calling the spring storm
As it passes
To leave behind all her leaves.

Down they come
From the barn beams,
Where they watched
Through the night,
On the bold wind
To her muddy bed,
To hunt in the tall grass,
To sing in her arms.