when we have broken something, we first try to repair: we reach for tools, or tape, or glue, to find the rip or tear but sometimes, circumstances rise we cannot fix, because the thing we want so desperately's no longer what it was
for her, there were his hands...
So, I talked to my house last night ‘Bout how all they’ve been feeling; Since she left home, they’ve been a wreck The whole place has been reeling I asked the toaster if it missed Its morning muffin mess; I asked the shower if it craved The soft smell of Caress The bed sheets said …
Continue reading "Counseling the Disconsolate"
To tell the story of a life Takes many pages, many words; To tell the story of a love Takes every bit as long The you I saw in summer fields Beneath an endless weightless sky The you I felt in tenderness The softness of your skin, a sigh For now, when I remember you …
Continue reading "Now, When I Remember You"
The years have gone, but you have not. In dreams you are alive as day, And warm as a fire, flickering hot, While snow around our house does lay. But this is the vision mine alone, The blue so vivid, scents so real, From which people say I must move on As though I could …
Continue reading "The Widower’s Dream"
She told him that she loved him In every way but one, But that was not enough for him, And so the thing was done. She's heard now that he's married, And wonders who his wife is; As she rereads his letters thinking Just how fragile Life is
hundreds pass, who fade like trees beneath the gaze of one in love; no one particular she sees, until the one she's thinking of and you won't understand, nor I, what makes her ever always so: she seeks, but never sees, because the one she loves left long ago
She sees them in a Tuscan Spring The family that they should have had A world of wonder beckoning Is love a good thing or a bad? For grief is the price love pays to time The two-sided coin, the joyous and The sad
she lights a candle thinking of the one she lost, and other ones along the way the twisting way that flows from love, and leads to love. she listens to the mourning dove across the river, plaintively at glowing end of somber day: it's all from love, it ends in love. the world within, below, …
Continue reading "the same girl is never the same (12)"