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 constantly everything he left his life splattered all over her then he left his life
(“Splattered” – 6-9-2015)
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)
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 Smile
(“Now, When I Remember You” – 6-25-2015)
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
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
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, above: the tears of grief that noiseless fall, but in their silence seem to say this flows from love, this all is love.
I lost you in the days when we were mired in the weekly grind; the heart and body set aside to cultivate (or use) the mind I lost you when we realized how much was worn and tattered from all of the neglectful time misjudging what had mattered And now, there is no you to find, though I might travel far, or near, for objects in the mirror are far guiltier than they appear
