Isn’t it strange
how in this brief exchange
of the creative impulse
we gain
a certain kind of intimacy
with each other
yet we never
smell each other
shake hands
breathe the same air
put up with personal idiosyncrasies
and off-putting voice inflections –
all the things our friends and loved ones have to.

Yet here we occupy hearts and minds
many of our friends and loves do not know
with such closeness, interiority, and connectedness.

What a strange and magnificent gift!

at the furthest
                        reach from me,

somewhere on the other side
                        of these lucid hills,

a box of sun has been
                        opened,

cut into manageable
                        pieces,

and given to all the young
                        dreaming denizens,

to blow with all
                         they have

inside their strong little
                         lungs--
                               ­     up,
                                          up,
                                                upward
into the sky,

circulating light
                          until it dawns as us all.

poetry put down and forgotten
life moves on...a river
never been here before
and its not so bad
you are better than you think
eternally lovable eternally loved.

I woke up on your sixtieth birthday
And realized I’ve been with you
For half your life!
Yet to me it seems sometimes
No more than the blink of an eye,
No more surprising than a sigh.
Yet then, I think of the joy
The kindness and love
You have given me as naturally
As you might breathe.
Then the aching passion that began
Long ago, now burnished with time
Still burns like the fire inside a jewel!
And each day seems like a hundred years
In which I hold you even when you aren’t near.
I would wish for another half of all you are,
But then I realize, that would never
Be enough.