You always had to me a look exotic
Though none could be more native
Nestled in our landscape here
Since ice melt these ten thousand year

No enemies, or so we thought
Warming, useful, strong yet supple
Ubiquitous, vigorous, unstoppable
What could harm you now?

Windy days you sway and clash
Skeletal click-clack in the canopy
But now it seems the common Ash
Must suffer life's fragility

Against this invading menace
You find you have no defence
The assassin fungus
chalara fraxinea

Let's meet at the crossroads between suffering and awe..
Is it as it must be?  Past to die that life may draw..

Its breath from love to begin now anew?
Do I have even the right "to be" without you?

And what do I think of this here Scarlet Letter?
Should I not be shamed into conducting myself better?

I've lost the "high ground" and tumble so close..
An "undone" life of my doing, some would propose..

So where is remorse?  Where is regret?
Is it foolish pride or what my soul can't forget..

Put here for a purpose though it may displease some..
My soul, she is stubborn and won't budge til she's done.

Be a silhouette
                                                                                     Of you, of me
And together we could be
                                                                                      Reflections.
We can stand
                                                                                      On opposite sides of the mirror
While our shadows dance
                                                                                      On the walls.
Black and white imitations
                                                      ­                                 Of our silently screamed whispers
Through slightly frowning smiles.
                                                                                       And when we fall through the floor,
Thicker than helium
                                                                                        We could be
Chalk outlines
                                                        ­                                 Of imagination.

curtains back           through wide glass
I watch as her silver sedan circa '99 winds
the half-circle to that black interstate
next to that 24/7 diner
under that see-through mini-gown of stars --
varying shades of infinity;
I turn on the radio to add one more.

smell of you baby, my senses, my senses be praised

into the bathroom            humming light, speckled mirror
to wash her salty tide from my forehead
and I feel young
and I feel lion
and I feel slow, contained fire
spilling from fingernail,
rising from aquamarine carpet to popcorn ceiling.

kissing and running, kissing and running away

before she left,
"sorry for making you the mistress in all of this."
and I said,
"you can pick the mistress."
her lips on my shoulder blade
then her coat in her hands,
her hand on the permissive doorknob
then cast toward the endless
not looking back,
but

maybe she will.

*no one will bar you
nothing will stand in your way
nothing
there's nothing

And my dad wanted us to hurry.
He worked the night shift.
Sweat on his forehead evidenced his
displeasure with rising sun.
35 mm in his hands. Steel-toed boots on pavers.
My mother stuffed another box of Kleenex in my
backpack. Gritted the metal teeth. Ready?

Ready. Her hands on my shoulders.

Take another one. Josh wasn't smiling.
Dad winded the film.

I don't want to smile.

My mother stuck her fingers into my mouth
pulling opposite and up.
And her fingers tasted like
the musty pages in the books without pictures.

I stand above my bed
And examine the damage.
Blankets this way and that
Pillows all over
Sheets tangled up around themselves.
Proof of something that
Only hours ago
Left this place empty.
I take in the rubble
And breathe deeply.
I lower myself down to those
Tangled sheets
And backwards bedspreads
And fill my lungs with you.
I pull them up around me
And close my eyes
And wish for this place to be
The same kind of battleground
Again tomorrow.