The logs in the fireplace glow hot tonight
With hisses and pops and the smell of firelight.
He lies on the rug, thinking, If she were here;
She sits on the couch, far away, though near.

The appeal of the fire no longer exists
For her, with him; she’d just as soon sit
Alone and imagine a different place,
A different fire, and a different face.

Fire is fire, he thought, sad to think
It would die by morning, when he would slink
Out alone in the daylight, distracted
By the heat of the sunlight, refracted.

Her eyes would never look at mine,
But I could never look away.
My love became too strong to hide,
And still I love her more today.

The seed I planted barely took;
It never reached the sunlight.
Then a rainstorm washed it up
To fertile soil rich and bright.

I didn't think the seed would grow
Until I saw a new green stem.
When I saw a leaf unfold,
I had to have her back again.

Finally, she looked at me —
A flower burst in love's blind view.
Though it took a while to see,
I knew then that she loved me too.

She said she wanted to be a writer;
he felt the heat of the fire —
the struck match of deja vu,
the long-unoccupied unlit room,
the dusty shelves of books and manuscripts.

He could’ve touched flame to paper;
instead, he lit a fire,
hoping she was born to be
exactly what she longed to be:
Daddy's girl forever, only better.

Those blue jays came around again today,
making such a racket they woke Jim up.
He didn’t mind, though -- he had nowhere to go
today anyway; he had nothing to do.
So he stayed in bed awhile listening
to their blue bravado and feeling alone.

He thought about how once upon a time,
he would’ve played the scarecrow, loud and mean.
But now he kind of liked their morning visits.
Today, for example, after finally
dragging his body out of bed somehow
and making himself a *** of coffee,
he pulled a chair up to the window where
he could watch and listen, silent, unseen.

Smoking and sipping, he passed a blue day
until they flew away. Then he felt sad
again for being white, earthbound, and human.

I wish I could teach you
a thing or two
but I ain’t got
a single clue
much less two.

And I wish you could teach me
to let it be
but if you do
I won’t be me
so let me be.

And I wish time would teach us
to get along
so let’s agree
that time is wrong
to take so long.

This is the day I shall be wed;
As I wait my thoughts are dead.
They lie stretched on the rack of love,
Embalmed like so many dirt-filled gloves.
And each stiff finger remembers
Nothing of the cold black embers
It once caressed with so much care,
As if each branch would lead somewhere.
But now the fingers of every thought
Cannot remember what they sought.

This is the day I shall be wed;
From my heart all fears have fled.
My heart alone is alive today,
A living, beating lump of clay;
Sustaining life with every pulse,
Incapable of feeling false.
Doubt cast out from the heart of life,
The tell-tale heart that found my wife.
I love her though my thoughts are still,
And when I say "I do," and will.