Sunrise over the Thames

The sky line is like an old graveyard
the buildings of different heights
all slowly sinking into soft grass

The tide's turned, after the dawn
chorus of seagulls gliding and gawking
at the light beyond the stones

Lily of the Valley

For Sara and Heath's wedding July 11th, 2008

Today I picked your bridal bouquet
in the shade of the wooden oak
away from the new summer heat
where hid the smallest bulbs of white
fragrant to the point of poison

The lilies grow out from fallen foliage,
thin green stalks leaning slightly
their delicate bells peeking out
with wide, waxy leaves

Reaching down, I tug up
a memory of you telling me,
you would only marry Bond, James Bond
we had our hair in pigtails, trying on watermelon Lip Smackers
joking about dream men, when the idea of “men” didn’t stem
much further from Ken, our fathers, and of course, Bond
there was always Bond, well- he rides a surfboard
instead of an Aston Martin, but I think you found
your modern day Connery

Bells come up quickly with a little tugging, sweet and solid, they slip
from the earth and into my tightly twined collection

And this is my happiness- that I can pretend to be
picking your flowers in the forest while your mother
ties the ribbon of the dress you wont wear, and that
with this poem, I can bless your choices
and ask forgiveness for my absence