Our Bit

Outlandish as the summer sea
That found us at this time and place,
We lived our bit of fantasy
And ran our bit of race.

For day on day and skin on skin,
We breathed in time the message in:
To ride the moments as they fly
For just like summer days,
They die

the sun came through the window

the sun came through the window,

a thing you rather relished;

you smiled in the warmth of it,

quite simply, unembellished

 

but now the sun is slow and gray,

the summer killed by frost;

and why you ever smiled here

is far and long since

lost

A Distilled Moment

He lost her long ago, he thinks,
And she was lovely, soft and sweet —
But somewhere there, amid the drinks,
She left and said, “I won’t repeat

This stupid hope I have that you
Will love me like you used to do.”
“It’s true,” he thinks, “that came to pass,”
Then pours himself another
Glass

This dock is where it always was.

This dock is where it always was.
I come back here, and see
A place that once rang happy when
There was a you and me.

But now I see a woman there,
Our fading ghosts are gone:
This dock is where it always was,
But you and I
Moved on

Beneath the Surface

It felt so good to be beneath the surface,
To see the summer rays break overhead,
To turn and twist, like otters in our freedom,
No thoughts, no left-behind, no what’s-ahead —

And sometimes we would see the ones who lived there,
Those creatures of the bayou, or the sea,
Who wandered in and out of us young swimmers,
And marveled at our strange inconstancy

For we would swim, but then would take to walking;
And go above the surface, to the light,
Where movement is too easy, and too shallow,
And where it’s much too warm and far too bright.

    Back home, beneath the surface, we would come,
    A world more like the one we all come from.