Holes

Life
pecks at me
often,
drumming
on the skin
of my spirit,
sucking
my sap,
boring holes
that cannot
be filled,
or hidden
from the
glare of day,
reminders
of what needs to die
so I can begin
to truly live.

Filigree Leaf

I am but
a tender leaf
fluttering
in the wanton wind
who carries
now
a faint hint
of sweet fragrance
of what was
and what is to come,
and while I dance
in gay abandon,
twirling
in this unsullied moment
with my
sunlight dappled cloak,
joy fills the holes
of my filigree existence.