they stood beside the frozen lake; bare winter was at hand — he’d always felt her reticence, but didn’t understand she looked at him with so much love, then drew herself a breath, and though a tear was in her eye, she looked a bit like death — but she was honest to the core, … Continue reading "substitute"
He stayed, although they’d told him she was gone. An old man in a hat, who you might miss, Sat waiting for someone who’d never come; The room had cleared to silent emptiness, But he would not believe – would not succumb – In touches seen but only privately, He’d known love from an acorn … Continue reading "Old Man, Waiting"
Things we hear said every day sound very different sometimes.
Mid-December of that year, he decided to go to the cabin anyway. For much of that year, after his wife Angie’s death in late January, he had done virtually nothing. He was surrounded by memories of her at every turn, and that was where he wanted and needed to be. She had been sick for a long time, “so … Continue reading "Snow Hollow"
they met late, but knew right away the other: each as though getting back something once lost but long forgotten
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 … Continue reading "Someone Wrong at Exactly the Right Time"
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 … Continue reading "Word."
A splattering of rain A smattering of smiles A happening of love A hundred thousand miles Another chance to have Another life to hold A splattering of rain And love turned into Gold Photo credit : © Igor Golubov | Dreamstime.com
beneath a blue prismatic sky they held collective breaths; for each had lived a lonely lie and died a dozen deaths but sometimes, just as starting’s nigh, the story’s told, and done: beneath a blue prismatic sky they blended in- to one