Flowers

The grave where they laid him had flowers

had flowers

All of them arranged with respect and love

those flowers

 

And now he is gone

Friend to my wife

Friend to me

Ever had he a smile

of flowers

 

How can I tell him

Except by writing this to you

That I loved him

And his vibrant existence

of flowers

 

I gather he is not gone

As I have written him here

He is in our minds

And in our hearts

with flowers

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You

You seep into my brain and heart

Like the sun

Easing my bones

Out of Winter’s teeth

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Rich

A gift from God

To sit beside you

 

Lost when you speak

Swallowed by your laughter

 

Watching makes my heart

Beat hummingbird faster

 

I imagine more for you

You ignite my smile

 

My simple words

Beg to fly

 

My humble ears

Begin to ring

 

Blind to all others

I begin to tremble

 

I was once poor

Now I am rich in your smile

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The Coming Day

Out there, where my dreams pretend, reality is erased. There I begin. Moving forward slowly – a kitten learning about my eyes – I venture into the night and listen to the voice of the stars; whispering ever faster that a new dawn will appear.

I reinvent my being, sighting something rising – a hesitant light defining a form… The fear in my sighs echoes from entering a world remembered by pain and loss. Still, it sustains me: dreams of woman, home, kiss, me. The unforeseen. Intentions famished in needing now. All inventions embellished and cautious in the light’s first touch.

Under weight of that, I approach the fountain – sweet and filling – aware of the all reality surrounding my new moment. Puzzled in the presence of she, my idiot inner child paralyzes me. My anxious desire misinterprets me. So I build better terror, banish hope, consider calm soul or frenzy, and get nowhere. Shuddering fantasy: woman is evaporating me in the heat of her smile. Waving.

Thus I burn to howl. Howl. The barrier between what is and what will be denies me. I can sense the possibility, but lack the magic to penetrate and cross over. Thus I masturbate with magazines, suffer premonitions, and lose myself to visions that continually fill my night… Light. Chance. Crying for hope. Faith for a connection. Interrogating her sight, glance, wave, hello. Fire in my new conscience: judge, victim, awe. All three scream. How can I appeal now? I am my own accuser. Should this new dawn appear, what will I see? Petitions, allegations, fears, and desire consume me. Useless. Useless to close my eyes and hold on to the time love hurt: ludicrous to assume that pain will revisit. Still I fragment. Hoping the next she will companion and help recreate me. My mood for commitment – bread and water – builds in me. Hungry for the sun. Love in her sighs and mine. To touch. Better consciousness. A present where past and future burn in the moment: everything whispering toward eternity.

Out there, where reality fades, I learn to care. I convinced me that if the light finds me – if her eyes consume me – I will try to be. Best I can. Woman, my contrary, my compliment; will shower my thunder as the moments climb… The ruins of me reconstructed in the dominion of unity. Love.

And in this beginning, I set down words – considering them and exploring me for the coming day.

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“Are you listening?”

“and I think Stella…”

 

He knew he should listen,

But all he managed

Was a small prayer

That his eyes would stay open.

 

She hadn’t touched her soda.

She ate one french fry.

He guessed that was good,

But she only moved

Her hamburger around.

 

“…and Carl laughed…”

 

He had to check in

Once in a while.

This was her choice

For dinner.

Every dinner choice was.

Same for movies.

All she did was talk.

One more reason

To avoid talk of marriage.

He didn’t know

How to tell her

No.

 

So he finished his burger,

Drank some soda,

And prayed that migraines

Could kill…

 

… and Danielle told me…”

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Were Not

Throw black bones,

With eyes white,

Onto your red square.

Read the signs –

Match your possible futures

To your more probable pasts.

Ask your silk wrapped cards

To speak of your now

Winding on to your when.

Move.

Be.

You make your own future,

No matter what is suggested

In the entrails of birds,

Or the roll of dice,

Or the lay of a few cards.

You were not

What you will be.

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We’ll Keep Your Garden Well

A wind raced through your house

And shuddered along the walls

It blew out your candles

And left horror in the halls

 

It’s colder now on your front porch

And there’s dust upon your floor

The lights are out because you’re gone

And I know you’ll return no more

 

We all came to visit once

And left a note upon the glass

You know we’ll keep your garden well

As the seasons slowly pass

 

It’s so sad that you left

Because we never said goodbye

You know we’ll keep your garden well

It’s so sad you had to die.

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