The Show Goes On

The show goes on; the dead have played their part.
But still we wait for one more cue, or line:
Those ne’er said words that we have known by heart,
And memorized, as though a valentine

That we will never feel in hand, or see.
The looked for, listened for, and waited on
That will not heed our cry, or hear our plea;
For love’s most fully owned when it is gone.

The show goes on; the dead have played their role,
But there’s no point in dialogue, or mark;
You live, although you’re missing half your soul,
A sunflower within the gray and dark —

    For none of it makes any kind of sense,
    The scene, the plot, the play, the


The Goodbyes We Get

We realize we’d figured out
Things we had not said yet,
But those are the goodbyes we need
Versus the ones we get.

For though we think that we might see
The future, and the past,
So many words we thought we’d say
We didn’t, at the last.

For time moves on, inexorable,
And though by general laws,
The smallest variations mean
We may miss out, because

We had imagined differently.
Then real events occurred,
And there are no more days to hear
Whatever wasn’t heard.

And then, though eyes may water wide,
And hearts may open bleed,
We’ve only the goodbye we got,
Versus the one

We need

a flight poem


  across a span of years and miles, seamlessly,
  bent on knowing
  what these feelings are that I must feel —


  believing in the moments and the words to come,
  barely showing
  cognizance of what the signs reveal —

    there, among the crowds and clouds,
    a kind of picture growing,
    of why it is the wind will burn
    and why it must keep blowing —

paradox —

  emotions essence, shadows of a summer day
  that tarries
  after all the light has has gone —


  by a song whose singer breaks the span of time
  and carries
  with it dreams of all those yesterdays

a scaring

the fall lay empty you
and i were sitting in

but you were gone
you’d long been gone
i turned to look and you were gone

the autumn sank into,
beneath, the winds
of hollowness

but i was done
i’d long been done
so many happy things we’d never

a habit of ingratitude
that’s past the point of speech,
a scaring off of what grief is,
a knowledge beyond reach

october and a lonely wind,
a leaf blows by, and knows
that it is dead

i turn again to look for you,
for you will never leave
nor will this ache,

this dread

It Doesn’t Matter Anymore

It doesn’t matter anymore,
The “she” that once was everything;
It doesn’t matter anymore:
It’s time for what the new days bring.

It doesn’t matter anymore:
The plans, the dreams, the arguments;
It doesn’t matter anymore:
For she is gone, to all intents.

It doesn’t matter anymore,
The words that don’t add up to jack;
It doesn’t matter anymore:
There is no point in looking back —

It doesn’t matter anymore,
But I’m still grieving, I confess:
For she does not care anymore,
And I do not care any


{ her Northern Star }

She lost her northern star,
Her sense of right, her guide through troubled space;
And now, no magic night can make
The aching sky less empty

She lost her northern star,
Her secret light, her why, her life and grace:
She’s lost amidst the stellar dust
And all the laughter of

The cognoscenti