PASSING (Upon the death of my father, 8/9/12)

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

Dreams of Flying (10/7/10)

The trick, she says,

is to throw yourself to the ground

and miss

Despite her dancer's grace

she will trip on nothing but the air

and I dream of flying

yet am always ready

for the fall

I Know Nothing about the Rain (with apologies to T.S. Elliott, 9/1/11)

Do you still love me, she asks

fragile moment, simple words

Fear and longing mingled like our breaths

hanging precariously in the air

People talk about the weather

To fill the savage spaces

Empty Silence, empty words

And we talk about the weather

What can I say

What do I know of the weather

Falling gently, scattered drops

What do I know of the rain

Do you still love me, she asks

In the interval between

Falling gently, scattered drops

What do I know of love

And in the rooms the women light as a feather

stand around talking about the weather

And I don't really know what to say

I know nothing about the rain

.

You Will Become a Shadow (10/1/11)

You will become a shadow

diminishing with the growing day

a cloud moving across the sun

a kiss of shade upon my face

as I wither and fall in place

cast aside to be forgotten perhaps

as you lay in your imposter's arms

Was our love anything more than a magician's sleight

Misdirection and showman's grace

Not real, perhaps, but oh so enchanting

As we came from different solstices

You in your winter palace, me my summerland

A love born in Autumn, now lost to another fall

What is left to me

If these are the last words I write for you

I will write a love song, not a dirge

You were a promise, touched by lies

but still, in essence a hope like a feathered wing

As you become a shadow

and I, something less than before

withering in the autumn

A feather, a shadow, falling in the breeze

Walking Down Fourth Street (10/20/11)

Walking down Fourth Street from your apartment

heading towards Pico and the long trip back

My head full of thoughts i shouldn't have

My heart full of wants I can't let go

I wanted you so that night

For days and months

But I couldn't take as a prize that which is only a gift

And I wouldn't want to be someone you regretted

Another mistake in your journey down

So I took you home that night

but didn't stay

We will never be lovers

Not even friends

As I walked down Fourth Street from your place

Towards Pico and the long trip home

You were so lost then

Lost then, as I am now

.

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