I’m trying to understand —

What does this ocean mean right now?
It’s voice is soft, I barely hear

The words its forming in the waves
I stand, attenuated, like a deer —

But stillness breaks before it forms
My mind, it never finds repose

Whatever, now, this ocean meant
Is lost to space,
For heaven
Only
Knows

Snapshot: Passing By A Woman In The Hotel Lobby

I saw her waiting in the lobby
Nervously, expectantly;
Looking out the giant window
Framed by its immensity

Who she was I do not know, and
Never will, now, I suppose:
But the seekers, lookers, waiters —
I belong
To such
As those


 

(“Snapshot: Passing By A Woman In The Hotel Lobby” – 12-10-2014)

The Pines

Among the pines we walked; we were in love –
The sun was streaming through the boughs above –
Our hands were clasped together by our sides
Out in the place where happiness resides

And even breathing did intoxicate
Us, stopping constantly, to share a kiss;
The moments between moments seemed so great –
The shining sun looked down on all of this

Just peeking through the pines to see us there –
Two soon-doomed lovers, as he knew we were:
So thoughtlessly we wandered, me and her,
Two lovers in the morning forest air

And though, this sonnet now, I may enshrine:
He pines the most, who lives but to repine


 
(“The Pines” – 7-21-2015)

Snapshot: The Morning After

She walked out of the trailer
Into frigid Winter air
And left the boy she’d met last night
Alone and sleeping there

She heard the softish crunching
Of the snow beneath her feet;
And pulled her jacket tighter
To keep in her body’s heat

She walked to a convenience store
A half a mile or so
Where she bought her some breakfast
And a coffee cup to go

And as she headed back
She thought about the night she’d had
And said: you know this growing up
It isn’t that half bad

Snapshot: On Finding An Abandoned Stall in the Desert (Revised)

There was a final time: the stall set out,
With jewelry and fabrics in a line —
The next day, and thereafter then, no more;
No more, and soon, no one with memory
To paint in images or words the scene
That once was daily, year on year on year.

The mundane, the quotidian: our lives,
Not big events, but habits of our days,
They soon lie empty on a sandy waste —
The firebird heads into the unknown,
High o’er the mountains, just past where we see,
To leave behind our stalls for someone else

4 Poems On 1 Photo

In moments that matter,
Other people’s feelings become
Matters of moment


I see stories everywhere,
So I don’t go out that much;
Half-unfinished tales crowd in,
Daughter’s tears and mother’s touch,

Signifying — Daddy’s gone?
Signifying — Hunger? Thirst?
Speculation, all the time:
Writers: we’re the very worst


In autumn, tears, like dew upon the ground
Unbidden come to cover mulchy leaves;
The air grows hard, and little space is found,
Though paths be wide, for one who sees, who grieves —

But love, a blanket, warms us when it can:
A moment’s pause, a word, two hands to touch
That close the distance, whate’er be the span,
That’s caused by what’s too wrong, too hard, too much,

But still lets tears maintain their gentle flow.
This is connection’s secret, to respect:
Each other’s cares to care to truly know
And neither to obscure, nor to deflect.

  There is a time for each of us to fall,
  When only loving kindness helps at all.


When you can love someone
More for the love they give others
Than they give you,
You will understand