...to choose Him, or at least, include Him
as our weird and lonely friend--
to yell at, to misunderstand, to complain to--
or maybe--
just to sit with, for a silent while--
while we figure it out

The quiet company
where we sit with our friend in misery.
Maybe share a beer, a smoke, admit we can't forget--
...the knowing companion that we talk to

He so gets it--
about the girl or guys we love, and why...
And he tells us, "Yeah
He feels that way too"

The grief of having lost us to another...

That whole free will thing--
that lets us choose Him
to be with us in our lonely failing--

It was everything.

Another Nor'easter
dims the sky
while it makes its plans
to howl all night
getting rough with spring
under white drifting blankets
crushing her crocuses
benching her robins
yet again

Turn the lights down
and remember me....
Aren't we still the same--?
in shadows
of incoherent innocence and beauty?
In the soft and limpid
florals of the spring?
Am I not the same--?
still warm, somehow?

My love--

Can we not, still make it here?
In ancient fires?
Turn me toward you, in your mind--
Wanting--
Erase the blight
with lips still seeking mine
Hair has drifted off--
the years
to catch the moonlight on a shoulder
as nothing else    will

ever

With something mined
from hearts and minds  

Touch me!
Make me forget!

time

I hear it
half in the bag of blankets
with an empty glass of wine
dumped
Between--
the furnace rumbling on
and the cat purring on my lap

"What the hell!"

That foreign sound!--

...of water in the winter
Far too cold for rain
more like a forest stream's refrain
I start to think of birds-- Then it occurs

I have a problem in the basement

Wading into the waters of Lake Laundry
Glancing warily for those snakes of wires
suspended from their rafter's limbs
about to spit and snag me
with their lightning strike

Slamming that ****
to make it go--
away--

Defeat
dripping off
jeans and unders
A clothes line pinned
with curses

Ah yes.
The smell of the Tide ...
going out
on another day

in the icy swirl
          of deep-inhale
            I reach down inside
                      to darkest
       heated flesh-fabric
removing the clothing
of my soul,
feeling the layers
                slowly  undone
                      the flay
                        of my own fleece
                          the peeling
                    of my own pelt
            penetrating
                through tissue,
                     a journey to the
                          deep heart of me,
                         cut in one clean move
                         and yet, like a miracle
                  there is
             no pain
                   just magnet-connect
                     beyond the cusp
                            of words
                              that curl from our
                                             tongues
                                      rising up in
                      latticed affirmations
                    a cleansing in frost
a constant, aquamarine renewal
and there is no past
no future
      just this prism
           of crystal liquid jewels
      flowing in
gentle,
         cellular music
             straight into the strands        
                    of our veins
and I miss you
like you have gone
on the long winter hunt
my longing splayed out
like an animal skin on
                    four poles
its tendons stretched
beyond measure
yet holding fast
with a roof over my head,
                    I acknowledge
             my restlessness
I am my own
       hunter-forager,
         both searching and found,
                     gathering up bits  
               of velocity
stroking the ribbons
of passion
stoking the fires of my
              heart and hearth
protecting what is us
like a lioness
for we are overflowing
with both strength
         and tenderness
              our own bones
ingredients of the wild soup              
of our feral union
of our constant rebirth
our very dna
          weaving itself
like heartstrings
               in the rush      
of
       time

This poem comes from a dream.*

Sun—as February ordains it
roseate—early
twisted inordinate—in gray blanket
Snow has sifted to the pockets, wrinkles
the cuff of his woolen cap

An old hand rubs stubbled cheek
Snow flickers and falls again
in a dazzle

As he groans and stirs—
sparrows sing
As he struggles to sit—
sparrows sing
As he exhales into the chill
he considers the lilies of the field
Their luminous curling petals rise
steam or hope?
or just white smoke
wandering from the tiny fire
He sits a while to listen
to sparrows bickering in the bushes
then bursting into song

They have their audience

Across in a court of broken glass
and toppled stones
a room— still partially intact
Kindling gathered
Marta melts snow for tea
peeling potatoes in her lap
Stops to blow on hands
Marta’s heart—decent, visceral
like her hair—bun, kerchief
like her words—few in the failing
like the wounds of her smile

And Mikhail—harnessed
to the sounds of service
Orderly rhythm in ruin
hush    hush     hush
of a broom stroking cobbles
Mikhail—his hands wrapped in rags
old warrior  
now, restorer of places to live
Stops, removes his cap
squinting sunlight into the channels of his face
Then turns toward unsteady shuffling behind him

“You shouldn’t.”
Tears interrupt
reaching for the broom
“You shouldn’t do this for me.”

“No, no, Holy Father. It is little thing—
a little thing I do.”

Patience
(no one noticed)
hardly moves its wings
Playing the atmosphere's
instrument
Poetry
Plying
well-known
Instincts....
Sensing lift of thermals
curling physics
with feather tips
Hanging
motionless
effortless
in love...

...its own
dynamic
unaware

Precursor of imagined--
tracing wind
taming flight
suspending  
beauty

Soaring
in the failing words of winter

Slaying
energy
in disbelief of air

Did I touch you as I left?
That night of beer and music
Almost tipsy,
laughing good-byes

Backing into blindly
I felt an arm... a moment
guide me
before I all but fall
against you
Knew that warmth
of mass was male

You exhale
I sense your being--
behind
Amused
By accidental intimacy
I come unglued
By your flirtatious
catch of eyes
in lowered light
By faint fragrance
of whatever it is
you've drunk or used
to put yourself together

Turning
guarded
Apologize
glancing down


Women always look, though
however briefly

the sea sang out
to the crazy stars,
dust beneath her feet,
flowers in her hair,

ivy pinned to a
black cave,
where the waves swept
past with their
engines of steel,

the clouds threw
their heads
back,
pretty swing
boats of
the whitest paint,

pressed against  a
surreal sky, above the
dust and the flowers,
the ghosts of the
moon.