the streets of Paris

  out on the streets of Paris
    she walks as through a dream
      of carnivals in summer time
        and whirls of buttercream

        she walks in perfect splendor
      a type of daylight dance
    out on the streets of Paris
  in love and in
a trance

tell me, love

so tell me, love, how do you feel

why do you wander, far and free,

why are you here, so far away

from home?


so tell me, love, is all this real

and are you truly there for me

will you be here to stay

or will you roam?


there’s echoes streaming

down the hill

there’s voices in

the clearing

for songs, they travel

where they will

they’re sometimes just

past hearing


so tell me, love, will nights be long

and full of worry, stress, and storm

a wilderness of sorrow, and

of doubt?


or tell me, love, will you be strong

and will love fold itself in warm

and shall, at last, tomorrow, we

find out?

journey filled

a bicycle beside the road
bedecked with hearts and flowers,
a child trembling in the night
who dreams of love and towers,

a perfect bit of rhubarb pie,
a shelf that’s varnished blue,
a life comprised of all the things
that make up me and you

a polaroid beside the beach,
a movie watched asleep,
a bit of snow, a bunch of rain,
and memories to keep –

some nights of wet confusion, and
some clear days by the sea,
a journey filled with all the things
that make up you
and me

Crossing a Bridge at Twilight

Last night, we crossed the bay,
Past six, and very cold,
Seen only outlines dim,
Cast off into the dark.

Tween where we were and are,
Mien frozen or relaxed,
Caught laughing or reclined,
Lean, anxious and adrift.

Bought time, but never love,
Fought off, and often slept,
But always in the heart
Sought what was good and best.

Rut dug, and then indwelled,
Shut down, shut off, shut in —-
What matters now is love,
What matters now
Is love

2017 : April

The Spring is seen from up above,
The Winter from below;
I couldn’t say just why this is,
I only know, it’s so.

The sunlight shone upon the door
That lead me to your room;
The day was bright, as I recall,
The fields were all abloom —
You greeted me with such a kiss
As few men ever get:
As your cat watched with interest our
Unfolding minuet.

The Spring is like a Mondrian,
The Winter like Van Gogh;
I couldn’t say just why this is,
I only know, it’s so.

We played a game of skipping-jacks
Upon your bedroom floor;
The stakes were high, the tactics low,
I lost my shirt, and more —
The sun came through the gauzy drapes,
And we could feel the breeze
That brought you to the April brink
And brought me to my knees.

The Winter’s like an ocelot,
The Spring, a calico —
I couldn’t say just why this is,
I only know, it’s so.

We drank the cup of many vines,
And savored every drop;
We then had tortes and eclairs, with
Some whipped cream on the top;
We used each part of both our tongues,
And fully knew each taste,
For April would be all there was;
We had no time to waste.

And when I tried to leave
You bade me stay, and took me in;
The cat was on the countertop,
And there was quite a din —
I think some dishes maybe fell,
And shattered in the sink;
Although I really couldn’t say,
And couldn’t really think.

The Spring is like an opening,
The Winter’s like a close,
Though we get lost in wondering
Where youth and passion goes —

But everytime is still the best
We’ll ever have, or know —
I couldn’t say just why this is,
I only know,
It’s so

Real, Love

(While at the hospital two years ago for the birth of our new grandson, I spoke to a father whose daughter was undergoing chemotherapy. These were his words.)

So I cannot cease,
Nor can rest,
Knowing you’re in pain –

I would do and I
Would undo
So many things now

My child: if I could
Somehow trade
Places with you here —

My heart lies open:
Why can’t I
Save you like I should?