I can see clearly
your image and can
imagine how you
are dressed...
the way your clothes fit
around your body,
your waist...
the shape of your legs,
the movement of your
hips as you walk,
the soft texture of your
face and the sensuous
teasing me cleverly
into submission;
those calming, passionate
eyes betray your feelings,
our love burns brightly
like a Church candle
in a moonless sky...
on some deserted beach,
we find ourselves lying,
caught up in some
mystical magic romance,
a fairytale that caused
familiarity to burn our
memories, leaving us only
to remember the sparkle
and the love we stole;
a love not given up easily,
carried around... as some
kind of painful reminder
that cannot be escaped
or deny the irony that tore
us apart understanding that
strength is not always enough.
Walls Hold
newness fills the office
setting a tone,
fixing... the
levels of communications,
workflows...
and past due reports,
meeting to determine
all the somethings or others
with which we contend;
time for this or that is over,
postpone your current schedule
that report is needed now...
what's with this hectic nature
and what is expected?
the walls hold onto their
bland appearance and my
collection of art collects
dust in my closet...
I live with uncertainties
of times...
of dates...
of places...
and who is the one really
responsible for this week.
Futures
my future fell from view in
the lost and found department,
no one could help...
I sat wondering on my favorite rock
about all that I should do...
out from under the wondering
I crawled... slowly at first,
then my pace quickened
and the brush stroked a new scene,
a vision into my rooms of dreams,
of all my night dreams...
of my day dreams...
of my anytime dreams...
I remained in this room from
which I could no longer escape.
the new year is three days old,
we must say our goodbyes,
our routines ends,
new life must begin again,
rearranged lives packs away
everything into memories,
friends support misgivings,
all doubts abandoned in
the face of this madness,
anger displaces complacency
and circles break into slow motion,
uncharted currents of time
extend out a hand yet only
one hand is offered...
only one can survive...
only one can belong.
Mornings
in the morning
looking our my window
into the last of the
evening's darkness,
layers of darkness peer
at me through all
these tree branches,
filling my room with
surges of newness and a
chance to begin anew.
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