Desolate beach---
trudging alone,
an old memory
with a hook sharp,
pulls him backwards,
wobbly foot prints
on soggy sand--
instead of her petite feet
playfully filling each,
puddles appear,
reminding
the pools of tear
in her sad eyes,
at the moment
they parted for ever
without even a word.

I enjoy driving slowly
Up Kathleen Avenue,
It brings out my
Split personality.

The sun strobes
Through pre-leaf spring;
I remember a boy
Twirling on the dance floor lawn,
Then called to the back,
To the used nail pile.

There's gratitude for the rain,
Splash in gutters;
The weeds will grow.
The spades, like naked stick-children,
Are heeled into mounds,
Beneath the dripping clothesline,
Far from his playful sounds.

I am me,
I was you:
My cryogenic memory
Thaws to resolve
We two.