She waits for you across the river (8/20/11)

She waits for you across the river

In the soft untrammelled field

Beneath the warm sun

She waits to hold your head

as it rests upon her lap

To whisper the words remembered well

Sweet and smooth as promised grace

She waits for you across the river

Go to her now, call her name

She has made a place for you

beside her, with her, now is peace

Her hand reaches for yours, her lips call your name

Your battles are over, won or lost, it no longer matters

She awaits for you there, now is only love

Go to her, go to her and rest

Safe in the warmth of her love

Across the river

in the soft untrammelled field

This Ordinary Madness (12/15/10)

We talk about these things

This ordinary madness

The gum in our hair,

sticking and pulling and making a mess,

impossible to remove

This ordinary madness

The complications of the days

and the nights

and the times between,

stolen and hoarded and hidden

This ordinary madness

Writ small on folded pieces of paper

shoved into a too full wallet

to be quickly forgotten

until found, much later

a memory of a chance

Now nostalgic in its aging grace

This ordinary madness

These things we talk about

Of interest to no one

but you and I

Precious perhaps

In it's mundane way

This thing we talk about

through our nights and days and the times between

This love, this desire, this need,

This ordinary madness

1/17/11

Lift me up

Hold me higher than I have ever been

Let me taste heaven

In the touch of your lips

Give me joy

In the oridnary day to day

Lift me, hold me, be with me

in the passing of the moment

in the shifts of time

Possession (for K)

You are mine

You are mine and I am yours

And together we are ... what?

Something more than the sum of us

A spirit moving through the tall grass

A shadow cast on the longest day

growing and shrinking with the sun

moving across the sky

And I am yours

I am yours and you are mine

Filling the shallow husk of me

Touching the secret places

In the diminished light of the evening

Pale smooth and cool

You reach into me and caress me

Holding tight the lonely core

made whole by your lips

You are mine

You are mine and I am yours

A gentle finger moving along your inner thigh

A promise whispered into your ear

My breath on your neck

Saying your name in the final moment

Living forever as we again become one

I am yours

I am yours and you are mine

And we are together

Something more

The sweet promise of the little death

Lasting forever in the passing seconds

cradled between us

In the immeasurable spaces

You are mine

You are mine and I am yours

And together we are ...

We are one

My Father's Hands

I see my father's hands

Long fingered, elegant beauty

Shivering tremors replacing strength

Once they held the world

Once they held my hands

Safe in their elegant length

when I first faced this world

My small hands in his

shivering tremors, giving me strength

I see my father's hands

When I look at my own

Ocean Park (4/10/11)

I no longer live in Ocean Park

Though I am never far from that place

Kept close in the quiet corners of my heart

Instead it seems I spend my days in passing

From a place I do not love to somewhere I don't want to be

And in my dreams there is you

So far away

Farther even than Ocean Park

With it's salt sting and morning fog

Known far too well

I dream of you, your eyes, your hand

The gentle hint of your smile

Replacing Ocean Park

In the quiet corners of my heart

I Say Your Name (For K)

I say your name

I say your name and all things fall away

To shatter like glass on the kitchen floor

Spreading pool of white

as random shards pierce bare feet

A splash of red

Spilled milk

Fresh blood

I say your name

I say your name in the quiet certitude of my love

Sure of this, if nothing else

I say your name and first person possessive

Your name

My love

Work in Progress (4/29/11)

Do you see these hands, they are yours

They were made to touch your trembling places

To hold your secret heart

Do you see this mouth, It is yours

This articulate tongue was made to weave patterns of words

Building castles around you from nothing but scattered dust

These lips were made to smile and frown

at all your little foibles, all your many ways

Do you see these eyes, they are yours

They were made to hold your gaze

To see you, through you, to you

Do you see these hands, this mouth, these eyes

They are your hands, your mouth, your eye

Made for you, to touch, to taste, to see

5/9/11

Dried flower petals

Turned to red dust in the folds of a pocket of a thriftstore jacket

amidst matchbooks and bar napkins

with scratched notes and numbers,

unfinished lines

Discarded petals, forgotten rose

Clinging to my fingertips, falling unnoticed

to the cold ground

dried petals, blood red dust

I See Her Happy (5/10/11)

I see her happy and I think

of all the chances I never had

to make her see herself through my eyes

For she could only see herself through others

A thing of beauty, an object of desire

Someone I couldn't hold

Though want was there

a piece was missing

Some fragment of my whole misplaced

could never make her happy

Though I longed to try

I see her happy and I think

Is she seeing herself now only through his eyes

Clouded by love, but reflection still

Or at last does she see herself as she is

Intrinsic to herself

A masterpiece waiting to happen

A wildflower in bloom

I see her happen and I think

of all the chances I never had

Contemplating Emily Dickenson on an unseasonably cold and wet Tuesday Afternoon in May (5/17/11)

Thinking about the thing with feathers that Emily spoke of so long ago

as she sat, alone, in her curtained room

Did she know about all she missed

A lover's breath upon her neck as they become one

It's possible to know what you've never had

Don't I know about that thing with feathers, taking flight against all odds

Did she dare to dream of love, the touch of a hand upon her heart

alone in her curtained room, so long ago

Do I dare believe in that thing with feathers

alone in this rented room,

as I contemplate Emily Dickenson

on an unseasonably cold and wet Tuesday afternoon in May

Yes, I dare

A Comfort (7/28/11)

She thinks of me, she says, as she lies in his arms

Closing her eyes as his lips are on her neck

but her thoughts are of me

There is a comfort in that, I suppose

in the uncertain knowledge of her words

For she is my water and I am in this parched hot place

She comes in flooding fury, Spring tide heights

Salt sting tears to my eyes, receding too quickly

Wet sand clinging to bare feet,

forgotten moments, whispered prayers

And she thinks of me, she says

waking in the night to another man's touch

A comfort, I suppose

8/2/11

A fading light

As shadows grow across once bright day

The flicker of a guttered candle

incandescence once bright, now dimmed to passing

Yet still, always, there is love

Long after all else is gone

Glowing still, shining on, a beacon to memory

Held precious, to guide us all home

Passing (8/9/11)

From hand to hand

Gentle touch moving silence

Held in this leaky vessel before moving on

To something, what not known

But here once, part and whole

Passing now, yet remembered always

The remnant of love is still love

What remains to us

passing gently

from hand to hand