The creatures of Greenlee were happy.
Why not?
Their sun was yellow
And their grass was not.

It was a good time to be out,
A good time to dance,
And maybe greet the flowers
If you got the chance.

A good time to keep friends,
Which is as nice as making friends.
A good time to forget who you are,
And follow the river bend.

Everyone was so happy,
No one cared to stop,
To notice for months the clouds moved on,
Without offering a drop.

At first just the river,
Then a few trees,
And a little while later,
There was no more green
in Greenlee.

The sun blazed yellow,
And the grass did too.
And Trout’s shrinking pond,
Was the only thing blue.

The animals gathered round --
Squirrel, Hare, Dove, and Bear --
To watch as dear Trout
Swam around in despair.

Deer and Butterfly, Caterpillar and Fly,
And all creatures below and above our eyes,
Came over to Trout’s pond
To say their goodbyes.

The morning Trout died,
The pond was just dirt.
The animals all smiled,
And then collapsed with thirst.

here on this most romantic of days
i thought to do something to bring you closer to me
in your distant absence
and so i drove down the roads we used to drive together
during that leisurest of summers.
i passed the mailboxes
that separated the grouchy neighbors
and i came up on those trees
now a little sparse of leaves
and then those street lights --
the ones that i knew would be off,
and the ones i knew would flicker.
and the parts of the road i knew to brake during
if i didn't want to bite my tongue.

and there is nothing quite like that feeling,

except maybe...

having to whiff the warm scent of
a thanksgiving pumpkin pie and then
not being able to eat it.

or maybe being in line to that great play,
letting someone elderly go in front of you, and then
learning when you finally reached the front
that they were sold out
and that you'd missed it by just one ticket.
and resolving never to do something nice again,
especially to someone old.

or maybe like going on vacation to sicily,
where it's known for the sunset,
only to find that the dark, deep clouds
had followed you there from your cubicle,
and that your window faced another building anyway,
where you could see another couple
being happy.

a little bit the feeling to a child
running barefoot along the wet grass in his pajamas
pupils dilated with anticipation
only to find that the ice cream man had forgotten
to turn off his music once he'd run out
of Nutzo bars.

so i guess there are a lot of things quite like
my silly attempt to bring you closer to me
in your distant absence.

happy valentine's day

A little turtle died one morning --
No bigger than a quarter.
Just sank to the bottom
Of her tank full of water.

Her owners took her out
And dug her a little grave --
Said a few words,
And then dodged the rain.

It poured for hours,
Like the sky was made of the sea.
And soon enough its power
Drew the little turtle
From her muddy sleep.

She bumped along the rocks,
Then bumped along the tires;
Rode the tumbling water
To her heart's quiet desire.

When the rain finally stopped,
Her shell had cracked through.
But the sky was the sky again,
And something else was right, too.

tears you hold back
do the only reasonable thing.
first they fill your feet and hands
and make it hard to dance.
then they fill your heart and lungs
and make it hard to sing.
and when they finally reach your eyes
well, it's not for want of try.
for tears you hold back
do the only reasonable thing.

if it's hard being me
for all of the things i carry,
then it's harder being you
because you carry me.

People always say that diamonds are forever.
Well so are Mondays and so are stains,
And other things I'd name if I were more clever.
So I choose the rose to carry through the rains.
For what's more like love than something that dies,
And what's my love for you if not the act
Of washing out the vase and setting it to dry,
And then getting more -- yes, that's the pact --
For nothing's more like love than trying it again.
And today we'll kiss and tomorrow we'll cry,
But when we love again, well, it'll be a new rose then.
For this time you'll have set the vase out to dry,
And I will watch as you carefully make our bed,
And decide that I'd love to make it instead.

the man with the mirror
walks a tender pace
when they ask who he is
he holds it to their face

sometimes he holds it
to the sky or to the sea
when they ask who he is
he says everything but me.

What’s it mean to see
A nest exposed in a naked tree?
Since neither you know nor me
Let’s call it poetry.

I walked around the house quietly,
As you do when you've fought.
Like the first to show regret
Is the one who's lost.

She had gone to sleep
With tears sealing her eyes.
So I did not worry
That I'd wake her tonight.

I entered her kitchen,
Where I hadn't been for days.
I found her things and her marks,
Remembered the table light
And its easy sway.

Then I found that little mirror
That she keeps on the wall.
One she could check herself in,
But I was too tall.

I bent down a little,
Until I met my face.
Then I looked at the ground --
Now a much closer place.

There's a new bird that's blind,
Who's up and sings at night.
"Poor thing," say the others,
"She doesn't know what's true."
And they lose all their sleep
While she does quite alright.