Your presence gives me hole —
As though a week was lifted from my shoulder —
I kosher it’s just a trope,
The kind we entertain as we get okra —
You wear it like a diary
That sparkles in the sketch,
Inline to you for everything
And you donut ask why —
Your live, it gives me hope:
It’s like the kiss that signature Spring
The hole you place
In everything
as ivy grows,
so grows my heart:
around the grounds
nobody stalks
as dead, deserted
empty shells
of autumn hopes
and summer walks
beside the far green forest where
the days of old were still newborn;
the scent of honey in the air
past city eyes that scoff and scorn
but only in the passing there
did i behold that distant fire
that speaks of rusted innocence
and wisps of smoke
that e’er go
higher
The day is gray and wet;
I place a candle here.
I neither can forget,
Nor can remember clear.
The face, it starts to fade,
The voice, it dies away;
I struggle to take hold,
But all is in decay —
For though we light our lights,
The years win out, at last.
The losingest of fights:
Our battle with the past.
But I will not give in,
Though, sure, at last, I’ll fall —
For I loved and was loved,
And that was worth
It all
The sights we see so often that
They go by unremarked;
The heights we never reach because
We’re ne’er that way embarked
The humble and invisible
That sits there in plain sight;
The fact that someone close to you
Will cry alone
Tonight
The lines of frost across the leaves
Now deep within my face
And whence the once-brown hair had grown
The frost now takes its place
From Autumn into Winter comes
A chill that changes things
Beneath the dying leaves and frost
A seed
Of new life
Springs
I do not need to close my eyes
To recall how it used to be;
Nor do I need to be alone
To feel the depths misery
Yet I do both, beside the sea,
Wide open to infinity;
My empty heart is cleaved in two
From gaining all
But losing
You
The mess is obvious,
as is the advanced age of the tools:
but, what we might miss here,
and what we often miss,
is that the act of sawing off or carving away
what is deleterious to the final product
creates chaos;
we then mistakenly see
the unintentional aftereffect
as the purpose of the whole activity.
But the purpose is the carving;
the sawdust is only
the inventible chaos that comes
with creation.
I photograph a rainbow
Through a gray and drizzly haze;
And think: while we communicate
A thousand different ways,
The conversation we might have
Is fragmented, corrupted:
For we now never have one that’s
Not some way interrupted
And out there, past the windshield
In the aether, lives get crossed —
The rainbow goes unseen
Beyond
The intimacy
Lost
The night will always open up its arms
To one like you, ye favored of the earth;
And shield you from the worst of worldly harms,
The way it has since your advantaged birth
Your travels done with such unthinking ease,
Tonight you are in Egypt for a spell;
While others scratch at dust upon their knees,
You’ve gifts unopened too profuse to tell
But why? It isn’t beauty or acclaim,
Although you’ve some of both, but just a share;
Your are not devious or full of shame,
You’re merely you, and mostly, you’re just there –
Perhaps, you’re not what I should contemplate,
But why I look at you, and curse my fate
