Little Dogs

A tongue in nostrils
The strangest sensation felt
Oh my God, stop dog!

Moth

I wish for a cure,
but even then
You would not exist.

You're a quilt that's
been attacked by
an army of moths.

Too much of you
is forever gone.
For if a cure were

found tomorrow,
the missing patches
of memory could

never be replaced.
I already accept that
patch about me is gone.

It hurts more to see
you forget your children,
your husband, your entire life.

(This is a poem from 2014.)

Rebirth

Too long since the words bled to page

Too long since the fingers went to keys

Too long since the emotions fled the mind

All too often it is the things unsaid 

That need to come unbound

It need not be profound 

Find the voice strangled up inside

All the worries, all the stress

Through writing you can find 

The ways you are blessed

Confess