Across the span of love and space,
I see her young, her vibrancy;
A sister of tomorrows that
She was not fated far to see —
But yet: within each perfect sky
My heart and eyes can feel her there,
In days that say that life is good,
And some of that is still
Adair
The first kiss was a trial run;
The second kiss, we meant it —
Our eyes had locked that certain way,
And nothing could prevent it
The fear and worry that we had
The spark would just be missing —
That disappeared the second time
That we resumed
Our kissing
but when he died,
we stopped;
for those who knew,
found wordless were their thoughts.
does music live,
when those who made it are gone?
or is it merely a ghost,
a fading echo of what was once living?
there was a day,
a strong-remembered afternoon,
with the smell of cooking vegetables and spices.
on that day,
we gathered for the music and the water:
where flows the living stream,
we ride the current.
now, bereft,
a fountain:
today, within,
an abandoned mainspring —
when music flowed like water,
we were alive, we were alive,
we were
at peace
This isn’t my neighborhood anymore;
This isn’t the place where I start each day –
Habitual turn to come up this street
I lost awhile back when we moved away
But we raised our kids in a house back there,
And what seemed important then now seems small:
The hopes that we had, and the agonies –
They, none of them now, seem to matter at all
And as I drive by, I feel shuddering,
As though the last ghost just passed through my door:
It, all of it now, has just flown away —
This isn’t my neighborhood
Anymore
she asked,
what do you really want?
i said,
i’m sure i do not know.
she stared out at the endless sea,
and watched the wavelets come and go
and as the summer turned a page,
the daylight dimmed as by a switch –
and love grew old, or maybe me —
i still cannot remember
which
We drove around on rented bikes
(Though she had decorated hers)
And laughed until our sides got sore
And we could barely pedal
Anymore
She turned to me with haunted look
Atop the spires of her pain,
I took her to my house and bed
And made it snow, and sleet, and rain
Her brown hair tumbled everywhere,
As she arched back in focus pure;
I thought I’d known that haunted look,
But never could
Be sure
you took your camera out into the snow
with joy upon your face of twenty-three,
and laughter swelled upon the fields in drifts
and rang across the hollow through the smoke
from chimneys up and down the backyard way,
as images of icicles and frost
and crystalline embodiments you shot,
in days before you’d ever know how good
a picture was, until developing
the film, you’d see if any was worth much
of anything worth keeping then for viewing,
it all was feel, and happenstance, and chance,
just like a snowfall in a southern winter,
just like a day of laughter in the snow,
just like a memory that’s slowly fading,
your words, your face, your laughter, and your voice
Photo credit : ID 49849775 Talashow | Dreamstime.com
i saw the summer in your eyes,
but knew you would be going;
the waves continued rolling in,
an autumn wind came blowing
for it was time for someone else,
some fanciful newcomer —
and we burned out, like august did:
our eyes still full
of summer
