Choosing to Become

As a teenage boy, I didn’t realize
The degree to which some girls, every day,
Turn themselves into works of art.

I only ever saw
The finished product, and I
Assumed girls looked the way they did
Having expended as little effort as I had.

(My sister was much older, and
Taught me nothing useful about girls.)

My father, however, did tell me,
By the time I was in college, that
It was possible, even if I was buying a date dinner,
That she had spent more on the evening than I had.

My father was, among many other things,
An artist, a painter –
He loved beauty, and
Understood it in ways I have yet to.

The creation of self is
An activity we all indulge in, every day;
Some of us more consciously than others.

Now, when I turn to look at you
On a day like this,
Your beauty is all the more striking,
Because I know it consists both
Of who you are
And you are choosing to become.

And it is miraculous
To me


she sees handwriting everywhere –
in waves, in clouds, in bits of shells —
the signature that guides her hope,
the miracle in parallels –

for “Mirielle” means “Miracle”,
and such she is, to me —
where laughs the ocean as it breathes,
the signatory sea

she sees lace curtains everywhere –
in mist and spray and bits of foam —
the curtain sheer that covers dreams,
and points her to our home –

for though the sound of clicking keys
is in my ears, instead of waves —
i feel the curtains lightly now,
that hang outside these mortal caves

and there, with Mirielle, i know
a universe beyond all size,
and see handwriting everywhere
as though now through
her eyes

Mutually Assured Striving

When we were first expecting, it was
All so strange and weird;
I couldn’t even count the many
Things we hoped, or feared –

And we were still so young, but yet
We did the best we could –
With so much raw emotion, and
So little understood.

The years go by, and knowledge fails,
Or takes on whole new shapes:
And bitterness becomes the norm,
The taste of sour grapes –

But as back then, so we are now.
New life will soon take birth —
And we have much to learn, and far
To travel on this earth.

To you – the girl, the woman, and
To me – the boy, the man —
To know there’s much we will not know,
But still, to always strive
To understand

Sweet Mirielle

The signs you read are in the air,

And so you worry, endlessly:

But here, there is no enmity

Enveloped in the love we share


The joy in which we both take part

Can soothe our souls amidst the strife;

So know – you are my warmth and life,

Sweet Mirielle, my love, my heart

fiesta del sol

ah, vacations in the sun
when we had time in lavishness –
those moments that i treasure from
our younger, freer days —

but images get bleached as we
go on to age and feebleness,
and much that i remember seems
to vanish in the haze

so let me now remember all
i’ve seen, before recall is done,
of how we loved each other, and
of you out in
the sun