within the glade

they kissed inside the copse, 
and loved within the glade. 
these words fell out of use; 
their love's no longer made, 

for it, too, fell into disuse. 
but such are life's cruel dealings: 
we will lose definitions, 
the same way we 

lose feelings

“… not what you say”

If love is what you do, not what you say, 
 and love is how you act, not how you feel, 
 then follow-through is everything, I guess. 

The choreography is intricate, 
 the moves of two, designed to be so sweet, 
 that taste so bitter when there's only one.


for her, there were his hands

always moving
making or fixing
caressing or 
filling her with desire

their lives a painting
with his portions
done with those fingers

colors of passion
aggravation and regret
splattering, smearing

he left his life
all over her


he left his life

(“Splattered” – 6-9-2015)

Counseling the Disconsolate

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 they wished
That she had stayed them warm to keep;
The teapot said it missed the oolong
She’d put into steep

I counseled them each, one by one
Until I reached the last;
Two angels on a music box
I gave her in the past

They asked me why she had to go
“I’m sorry, Oh, I am —
She left because
She married someone
Who’s not worth

A damn.”

(“Counseling the Disconsolate” – 12-4-2014)

Now, When I Remember You

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
There is a novel in my mind;
The beauty of your memory
Is always young, and brave, and kind

There's beauty in the world, I know,
But I thought I had lost it then:
You walked into the room, and I
Became the mindfulest of men

But this - this was not me at all
This was all you, and love; it was
A type of wakeful dreaming where
I did not want to wake, because

Your magic was in everything.
If ever a man loved, I did:
I cherished every moment, and
I lay awake at night and bid

The minutes slow their very march.
To lengthen time, our time, so much
As possible; to see your eyes
To stroke your hair, to softly touch

Your skin beneath your summer dress.
To love you there with all my heart;
Your words of warning in my ears
That love is short and lovers part.

A life, my life, what is it now?
It's just a cold and fading fire
A soon forgotten flickering
Of what was once raging desire

And all for you, my long true love -
Who taught me wonder in the night,
Whose hand I took to cross the bridge
Of leaving off and doing right

The day is closing in, and I
Put down my pen, and rest a while -
For now, when I remember you
I shiver once, and lastly

(“Now, When I Remember You” – 6-25-2015)

The Widower’s Dream

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 turn off how I feel

Every Way But One

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