{ … seasons, like eternities … }

in seasons, like eternities,
  we watched them spark and grow –
banalities are everything
  when they are all you know

or so we thought from where we sat.
our friends were deep and gone;
  we judged things then quite casually –
  so upper echelon

  were we, that we saw nothing clear.
despite our vision grand
  there was much in simplicity
  we couldn’t understand.

you plan a trip, logistically,
  it’s money and it’s stuff:
  we somehow missed the marvel that
  is two who have enough.

in seasons, like eternities,
  the truth sang out at last;
  while locked in our modernity,
  the moment almost passed

  to see and comprehend our friends
  on top of Fortune’s wheel:
  for love sees clearly, if not ends,
  what matters and

  what’s real

Someone Wrong at Exactly the Right Time

She was a track star, a straight “A” student, and she did everything right. So right, in fact, that she yearned to do wrong; to be wild, to let go, to grow up.

I, apparently, was someone wrong at exactly the right time. Suspended from school for fighting and cutting classes, talking back to the teachers, saying whatever I thought or felt. I had started a process of giving up on what I had believed in, a process which was to last more than a decade; but I was seventeen, and I didn’t care.

So, we ended up together: for almost a year and half, even into college. She held onto me for that while as a way of showing she wasn’t just going to read off of the family script anymore. And I wore her like a prize: look, you all said I was nobody, but she’s with me.

We poured almost every drop of nascent passion we had into each other. I say ‘almost’ because, it turns out, we each had someone on the side. She had a boy from another school she saw at track meets. I had a girl who took piano from my old teacher. And so it went, until she ended it because she’d met someone else.

That was more than thirty-five years ago, and she’s still with that same “someone else”. I bounced around from girl to girl, then woman to woman, trying to find someone else who fit my maladapted behavior. Still, for years, I thought about her. It wasn’t that she was the most passionate love I’d ever had, although she was more-or-less the first. It was that she made feel like a better person, while she felt like a worse one — which was what she was after, at the time. Her fundamental decency, however, she could never really overcome with me, nor did I want her to.

But even though I was only a step for her on the road to who she wanted to be, she saw something in me; and even after a breakup, and all the heartache that entailed, she left me with a gift: the realization that I could, after all, be with somebody, and both of us enjoy it. We were not meant to spend our lives together, but I learned a lot from her and our interaction; eventually, we both realized (although she much sooner) that running from who we were was never going to change who we were.

So I have my memories of her; I see her, thoughtful, sitting down by the water’s edge, dreaming of something, something she had yet to find, but that she did find. And I also realize, that I loved her, not just for what she did for me, but because I took delight in her, and wanted her to be happy even after we split.

For love is like any other type of activity, we only get better at it by doing it.


When just a boy, a thin, tousle-headed boy, he lost his word.

People told him what to do, and where to stand, and how to think, and just the way to wear his pants so he would not look out of place, and he thought maybe he should decide these things for himself, but he couldn’t find his word. So he went along.

One day, he got his stupid fashionable pants caught in the chain of his bicycle. Crash! Came down his bike. Smash! He fell flat on the pavement. It hurt a lot, and his eyes watered, but still he couldn’t find his word.

A few days later, he was standing where he was told to stand, trying to think the thoughts he’d been told to think, when a girl walked up to him with a question.

“Have you seen my reasons? I think somebody took them. I can’t find them anywhere.”

He said he’d help her look.

They looked in hallways, and they looked in trash cans. They even looked on the ramp behind the school. But they could not find her reasons.

“I lost my word, too,” he told her.

“At least you have other ones,” she said. “Those were all my reasons.”

They walked along in silence a minute longer, before he said, “I have some paper, and some colored pencils. Let’s make some new reasons.”

She smiled at him, her eyes sparkling.

“‘New reasons’… that’s a pretty good word you’ve got there.”


The sharp regret that follows to the grave
Is hidden now by neither snow nor stone;
For while we’re weak, it’s possible we’re brave
Enough to face our sorrows on our own,
Albeit, we need never be alone —-
For though we live in dungeons in the dark,
The fire’s there of love’s remaining spark.

With bitterness, regret stays ever close,
An agony that’s known to very few;
As we take wormwood, endlessly, in dose
And wear the angry lie to hide the true,
And gain the strength to do what we must do —-
As in the end, love stands and gives its all,
An “always” in its heart, up to its fall

Photo credit : © Robert Philip | Dreamstime.com