I don't think about it any more
I take out the trash
noting
Sticks caught in the crotch of a tree
The wind does what the wind does
breaks weaker branches down
does not care where
it leaves
them
on its invisible way

Days do what the days do
they don't count themselves
worthy as they go
to release
the afternoon
to evening—
an artless
emptying
to a low spot
where tears tend to pool
if I'd let them down

“You know,
in that low spot
out there...?”
Where it's hard to see
Where its hard to care?

They take heart
out
divide it by energy
for sadness—
I haven't got

Watched the clock go round
wipe out my little plans
with relentless hands

...and I never got dressed today

The birds no longer give their song
They have given up the forest
To my sorrow
It is silent
Love is gone
There's nothing left of hope
The seasons change
Love is gone

This woman I know
quite the old hippie
gave me this lovely gift

A softened silk and denim dress
Folded loosely
just handed to me, unwrapped
(We felt the same about the waste of paper)
“This is for you.”
Opening it, I saw its gentle gathers from the shoulders
almost elegant, its drape
and the rough
but soft and dark of it
Real indigo dye
with silk laces from bust to waist

...then the tiny stitching...
NO!
Not by machine!
Knew the labor was – intensive
Every edge
was finished, sewn
by her caring hand!

"Oh, lady of my dream

whom I do not know
I THANK YOU!
From my soul"
I would have made this in another life –
time
of hope and longing

And then I saw that seam!
along the side
that wasn't... really...
just those thicker threads
a silk macrame
of knotted net
so –  bold
to hold that one inch open
to hint at nothing –
and everything –
in between

“Oh hell! Oh ****!
Does it come with an occasion??!!”
She smiled
somewhere between shy and sly

“Some people are never far away...”

I am thinking this--
bouncing tipsy on pool floaty
at my daughter's new home
in 'burbs of Philly
Sipping wine
on a pool floaty
thinking this--
  
abstractly

Sipping wine
in odd peace
on a pool floaty
cool and soft, the water
Cicadas scour the air

...Knowing it's not true....

I had watched them from my porch
leaving –
since the day they came
They –
and the robins too, headed south now
tumbling in their groups
that garble time
that sketch horizon
with a maze of staggered lines
Watching
geese--
their backs and wings gleam
in golden V
across the sunset

They are honking as they rise, raucous
from river in their flight
My daughters do the same  
Migrating south from Scranton
waving, honking til their cars have turned the corner
out of sight

...on a pool floaty
fully clothed
I watch them
drenched in the darkening sky
tasting salty streams

Intoxicating sounds
their laughter
their voices--
How I love....

cicada droning
in the lush of background green

I will keep this moment clutched
to me
all I have of them
between these moments

I live between moments
of nothing and everything

Dull skies have finally broken
Humidity lifts
and there is air under there--
The last of day
the barest blues
the singe of pink
held up by lumps of charcoal cloud
drifting in scent of backyard fires
The moon curses from its crook of smile

Then hides again
behind the city rooftops and blackened trees
among the aerial cheers of a football game

two miles away

Hello, how are you today?
I hope this note finds you well.
I'm writing to tell you that I miss you.
I never known
The touch of your hand on my cheek.
I've never known
The way you would look into my eyes,
And convey to me, the love in your heart.
Your love for me would make me feel unique.
There is an esoteric peculiarity in your look.
An emotional connection which flows between us.
How can I touch you from here?
I dare not get near you.
I'd never want to compromise your
Love for another man.
I'd never walk  by your home,
Even though, just being near you...
...My HEART beats uncontrollably.
I think how lucky I am to know you exist.

You walk by me,
As though,
You don't know that I am here.
How can I tell you
Of the endless depth,
Of my love for you?
You don't even glance in my direction.
All I can say is I love you,
In my fantasies.
But we live our lives
Together, Happily,
Separately,
Forevermore,
In my dreams.

Doesn't anybody anymore,
Pay attention to the rules of the land?
It seems people have given up
On abiding by rules which
Were developed decades, nay
From CENTURIES ago.
An entire encyclopedia,
At our fingertips, for our use,
And we can not see it for the keys.
Nothing is hidden from view.
We have spell check, and
We have grammar check.
In our zeal, we choose to ignore.
We have a thesaurus within our grasp.
We have the ability to count to ten.
And just like everything else in life...
...we have given up on rhyme, and meter.
When will we ever learn,
That some things in life,
Are best left to tradition.
And we should become progressive,
In our thoughts on paper.
Inclusive of Meter, MAYBE to rhyme.
And bring that progression into life.
Not to wither and die on paper,
In a dusty old library of old thoughts and deeds.