– this grief –

the lightest hand across your back,
or held within a deep embrace;
if i could join you in this grief,
i’d cross the coldest depths of any space

i know the light and dark are mixed,
our longest times are still so brief;
and though my love is poor, at best,
i’ll give you all i have to help this grief

the light and dark are mixed and we
must hide our eyes as at our birth;
but let me be a shield for you
if only for a moment on this earth —
if only for a moment on
this earth

The Ugliness of Life

The ugliness of life, it waits
Around the corner, in the dark;
For all we might procrastinate,
The ugliness of life will leave it’s mark.

For long with patience will it seek
The moments we are down, or weak,
And scour down the shores and docks,
The country roads, or city blocks,
Or happy pathways in the mist
That we might hap to walk upon.
The ugliness of life, it sits
And from its hiding place, it won’t be drawn.

Until the moment it might choose
To show itself, to our regret:
When all we seem to have, we lose,
And our few certainties, upset.
Yet still we travel, as we must,
Our meagre stock of hope and pride,
With ugliness around, we trust
It’s sister, loveliness, is just outside…

The ugliness of life is there,
Around the corner, every day;
In all we seek, for all we dare,
The ugliness of life won’t
Go away

Imperfect Love (A True Story)

Imperfect love was perfect for them.
He recalls their wedding day —
Radiant in joy and sunshine,
Always, in his mind, that way

Never in a hundred lifetimes
Could he ever have foreseen
That she would be taken from him;
Left to celebrate and keen

For a ghost he longs for nightly,
Loneliest of earthly men;
Dreaming of imperfect love that
He will never find
Again

This Sting We Feel

This sting we feel’s because we’re new,
We’ve never felt this way before;
The billions who have known of grief
Aren’t useful for this, any more
Than anyone who might not know

Because we’re lone, our sorrow’s lone.
We want to share, but don’t know how;
The burden shames us, weighs us down,
Fills up the endless present now
No matter where we go

And though we fly or walk or drive
Across the hills or valleys green,
Distractions vernal all around,
It’s only dolor that we’ve seen:
Our mortal lives around us show,
And ever so,
Forever
So

Reynold’s Hill

There, past the stanchion, on the street,
Sad little boy with his only friend:
Rain has been falling, beat on beat,
Evening is crawling, nights don’t end —

Where is the hand to smooth his face?
Where are the arms to hold him close?
She’s sleeping under Reynold’s Hill,
Just past a soggy
Paper
Rose

The Ripping Out

The sound of only stillness birds

The grass that’s manicured and clipped

The emptiness that knows no words

The should-have-been’s that all get skipped

 

There is a knowledge only they

Who’ve felt the ripping out can say:

Though time stretch long, and legs go far,

Forever loves

Forever

Are