Everyday Joys: My Wife

She makes me laugh (I love to laugh)
She makes me think (I need to think)
She makes happy (most the time)
Although, I can’t predict her —

It’s love (and love’s most everything)
And joy (and that is hard to find)
Though she says ’twas the OTHER way,
I’m very glad I picked her

Filling Station

A woman and her husband
Stopped at this place

She, eight months with child
He, thinking about walking out
And the drive had been a tense one
Old wounds reopened
Fresh hurts on display

And an old couple was there
At the same time
Laughing while they pumped gas
They asked her when the baby was due

She said, “One month.”

The old man asked her husband
“Are you excited?”
“Nervous,” was the reply

“Don’t be. Just remember:
Loving someone
Who loves you back
Is the greatest thing in the world.
And your child
Will love you back.”

Forty-eight years later
The woman is no longer young
She stands at this abandoned place
Her young granddaughter in tow.
“What is this place?” the little girl asks

This place?
This is where your grandaddy and I

Decided to stay in love


(“Filling Station” – 8-15-2014)

outlined in grace

outlined in grace,
a silhouette against the city’s light,
she works into the night,
as silently upon the hotel bed,
he sits and studies her

enshrined in memory,
the day of promises,
and night of many, much and after much,
an age of opulence,
and giving when that all was natural

but after years,
what effortless once was is concentrated work,
and he forgets the high unlikelihood
that she’d be here with him,
after so many things and years,
five feet away, so beautiful,
outlined in grace

For Her —

Through golden lands I drove today
For mile on mile, field on field —
I stopped to watch the long grain sway:
An ample sort of yield —

And I remembered you and me
On our way up to Williamsburg:
We’d stop wherever, randomly,
Just as we felt the urge —

And I could see that afternoon,
The way you looked that golden day,
For we were on our honeymoon,
And cared not where we’d stop or stay,

For we were two, and two’s enough.
At least enough, for trips like that,
Where shine’s the thing, and not the scuff,
And being there is where it’s at.

But then I blinked again, and knew
That I was here, and you back home;
That we are tired now, and do
More things on plan, and less on roam,

But love, there’s one thing that I know:
That while I’m earth, and you are fire,
We still have places, yet, to go,
And you are, as you were,
My one

point of admission

she never knew true love

she said
she never knew true love
until she had a child

and i felt hurt
as men will tend to do

to know
that we're extrinsic
to a woman's love
at last reckoning

yet i had learned
the lessons i was taught
as a child --

that men are expendable
in fire
in flood
in war

it is our job to die
so the greater work
can go on
without us

if needs make so

and that women will
the full expression
of their love


to the smallest person
in the room

and they'll call you

when they're ready

for another one


when love is light and past the door

when love is light and past the door

we live the life that no one sees

when breaths are taken in for time

and focus aims to slowly please


there is so much reality

that’s nowhere on the internet

there’s so much more to human life

than art has ever shown us