Radar Love

You were later than usual yesterday
when western hour rested on 2 –
it’s when I drive home,
alone,
that I see you in sky
hovering like a gluttinous king
fat with knowledge I don’t yet have.
And I cry through a change of songs on sattelite radio
tears are old friends wearing words I’ve said too often
falling like your breath on my neck
as you peek through a keyhole at me –
a poet you placed on a pedestal
a poet you misplaced.

Somewhere Out There

Sweet Southern night
scented with Georgia Cherokee Roses
& radiated with white paint
splattered in a March moonlit sky.

With a slight waking sensation,
barely breathing
heart murmurs
through a secret satellite connection,
I reach for you,
feel you
in your own spring night,
temperate with desert stillness.
Your ear, my whispers
symphonizing
again.

Copyright © Ellen Garrity 2011