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Here you will find the writings of the poet Theodore Waterfield

For Her Pocket

She looked for my poem,
as if I’d found a star
small enough,
to put in her pocket,
like a small bird
fluttering with white wings,
and blue dreams,
a Cyclops’ eye,
seeing everything.
A moment when love was exchanged,
put into light.

She cherished something
that grew,
from a vague space,
from a heart
that frequently lost its way.
I saw
how huge her heart was.
It was a space,
bigger than a star
needs to breathe.
It burned with white hope,
traveled in pure lightness.

So I gave her a poem,
day after day,
like a moth
rising from a marsh.
Less than she deserved,
dew from old grass,
but a star for her,
nothing less than a star.
A kiss to put on her lips,
a poem,
to put music in her heart.

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