What a gift,
to be alive,
to feel alive.

I had several reasons for writing that specific poetry, but you were not one of them, despite my best efforts.

Since birth crying shows you are alive
And a weapon to have your way.
22/3/2022

I imagine the man across the alley judges me
but I don’t know
I think she likes me
but I don’t know.

I feel sad about the thoughts of him and her
that I don’t even know
my imagination captures me in an I-loop.

Then I read Edmund’s poem
                      he takes me on a spiritual adventure
                                    into peace, love, life, nowhere, somewhere,
                                              dancing in the rain

I think about dancing in the pain
               and here I am still waltzing
                            dripping and glistening.

Poetry invites imagination.

You complete me
in every sound you now mouth,
every movement of your tongue,
every muscle’s adjustment
to effect fresh shape to each phrase,
in every quick, shallow breath
giving sudden pause and turn
to the next silence.

You complete me at this reading.
I had been deaf to the closing,
blind to the ending you now gift me
and ignorant of the next stair
with no balustrade to steady
where you leave the first me
to rise to find, first-hand,
the landing that now completes me.