Recollection Exchange

You are not what you were

The way a river flows

That’s called by just one name.

To recollect can be

A trap, an unreality —

A truth that is no longer here

Will not be false, but still

Will not be real. Like music

When we’ve lost our dance and partner,

Or like running through

A game no longer played.

So you would steal

My memories, the joys I call to hand?

This is a sabotage:

For feelings are

Our ultimate reality,

And you should know this, friend.

They aren’t unreal

Because they aren’t outside our heads;

That is a fallacy.

Better to sing remembered tunes

Than give into a vain and present

Silence, if there still be music

In your heart.

days of softness summer

in days of softness summer sings
it’s varicolored chorus…

in days of softness summer sings
it’s varicolored chorus;
the bright life essence solstice brings
the sharp relief in minor things
through light we’re opened, porous

in moments of recumbency
we find our missing ardor;
the worried minutes hours flee
and all the lost, the you the me
invoke the sacred charter

in days of softness summer sighs
its song of sweet enchanting;
if love came first we’d realize
that tenderness is right and wise
and summer, time for planting —
the seeds, our lifetime’s

water fallen

he asked her once
why she was so afraid –
if he had known
how badly he scared her
he would not have asked

  water fallen, as a dream
  that drifts upon a mountainside;
  water fallen, every day
  across a heart that’s deep and wide

she told him once
that he should strive for more –
if she had known
how badly that scared him
she might not have enjoined him so

  water fallen, like the days
  that we careless cast away:
  water fallen, all the ways
  that we find to port and pay

they married once
because the day seemed right –
if they had known
the scabs don’t heal by picking
they might not have touched —

  water fallen, like the hope
  love will come to stay for good;
  water fallen, in the glade
  where those two young lovers stood.
  water fallen, hearts will try,
  even though their fate seems dim —
  but as love has ever been, so
  will be her and
  will be

The Emerald Sea

He walked out on the blowing sands,
And gazed across the emerald sea,
Forgetting all his other plans.

He walked along in ecstasy,
And all his thoughts were with her full.
He thought it all an augury.

From what might come of his heart’s pull,
He did not know, but hoped for much:
A touching pure, and beautiful.

But oft, illusion’s made of such;
He did not know her heart at all:
Buoyed as he was, with phantom touch.

As witness to her siren call
The sea, the sands, and all his thought
Were frames around his lover’s fall

But though much damage there was wrought
At least, these precious moments bought


(“The Emerald Sea” – 7-3-2015)

Gold, Red, and Orange

Where I grew up, the colors never changed.
But now I live where green will turn to gold,
And red, and orange; carefully arranged
In patterns wild, and symmetries untold –

Perhaps you know the feeling I speak of:
For most of summer, I await the turn,
As though the world itself was full in love
And blushed to see it’s lover’s fast return,

And lit as though a love scene from the past:
A world of meaning found in mere