Snow Drifting

— 1 —

There is a fullness in this place
Caressing muscle, heart, and bone;
A chilly glow, an open space,
The chance to think, and be alone,

And sing without the need of words,
To speak without the use of sound —
Just feel the moment, fully borne
With such small glories as a life

Is crowned

— 2 —

Last night, you came to me without your shoes,
And sank into me, suddenly; and I,
Who’d thought about it many times, believed.

Like leaves out in the snow and twisting wind,
Beneath a moon that doesn’t know regret,
We moved because our hearts were meant to dance —

These freezing hearts were meant for just this dance

— 3 —

In Spring, on a gleaming bench,
He asked the girl to be his wife,
In Summer, in a forest glade,
The pledged each other love and life.
In Autumn, color changed to gold,
But love must conquer all, and will —
In Winter, here’s the bench and glade,
The gold is gone, and all

Is still

receding expectancy

It’s everything she doesn’t see;
It’s what she does not feel —
It’s hope that’s only fantasy
And love that’s never real

But still, there is expectancy;
She knows there’s something cooking —
It’s somewhere in the distance, now;
But she won’t give up

solitary view:


ever receding

mystic forest

the mystic forest

where branches intercept what

the heavens declare

the glow streams through
the yielding trees
to add its light
to our unease

but though our minds
are restless, true –
what light we have
will have
to do

scolded by beatitude,
blessed by touch of sorrow;
forest of today’s intent,
hide my shame

as i live and breathe

she once said

before she just stopped

a trilogy in white

he wakes to numbing ice and fog;
his back is sore, his eyes a-blear –
he scoops out food to give his dog
and wipes the window with a smear
and sees the trees amid the snow,
the world awash in dreary white —
and in his archipelago
of scattered hopes estranged in blight
he’ll heat up coffee on the stove,
the heat will touch his fingers —
as morning thoughts of loathing wrack,
and night’s regretting

the distant mountain

doesn’t say

but it sees the pain

sometimes the blankness, others
habituated by the cage that winter
has become; but feet get tired,
eyes grow weary, and captains run out
of orders to give to those who lost
confidence that following the plan means
following what’s right to do in the
face of all that bleeds into the snow
surrounding everything; unclarity the word,
misbegotten truths transmitted by text messages and
men drinking coffee by windows next to pens on
half-finished crosswords, and frameworks of
designs awaiting the filling in with colors,
most the time, the bright ones, but
sometimes the blankness

Dreams / Tell Me, Autumn

Beautiful and pointless are
My dreams —
Often unremembered
After birth

Much the same is true of
Human lives —
But that’s no real measure of

Their worth

Tell me, autumn, do you know
Why it is I dream of you?
Can you see humanity
Reaching for what’s good or true?

Tell me, autumn, graciously,
Why we crawl but long to fly,
And the reason that we strive
Not to know, but to know


The Music of Remembering

The music of remembering, the melody of “once”;
The flash of memory blinding like a thousand burning suns —
The heart turned inwards toward a time when kindness was in style:
And whispered love was guaranteed to cause a secret smile

The music of remembering, the cabaret of time;
With everything in motion, but emotions still in line —
A day out on the lawn with just her memories in tow:
Of when the whispers were for her –
And love,
An afterglow

in love’s embrace,
we do not see
that it’s a source
of misery
for those of us
who’ve felt it’s sting:

for love
just screws up