I know sometimes
When night time's nigh,
A moment comes
And makes you sigh-
and languid are unfocused eyes,
They do not see, but look inside.
And they perceive another scene,
A memory or else a dream.

Or is it that you hear a song
like woven canticle goes on?

Two voices blend in melody
that pulls the heart insistently,
till nothing else can then be heard
not butterfly, nor yet a bird.
One song goes on into the night
in endless perfect flawless flight.
And so, may this song ever be.
This song is you, this song is me.

Tomorrow, who can say,
Will there be a window
where I can greet the moon?
Will the thinning cloth of dreams
accept the stitches of yet another patch?
And in the day, could I find a moment's charity?
Day after day the rains fall cold and grim.
I see the folk gritting their bodies, all tensed,
as though to steel against it.
Can we dream of clarity, when it rains?
Don't speak.. no, don't say it.  Don't tell.

Oh Life!  How could I know,
That I could burn
From bitter snow...
And wounded thus -
Begin to know the very cold
That cripples me -
And makes me writhe incessantly?

Oh world! Be kind to me!
The burning frost is searing, See!
the marks from every touch -
when I am brave and trust too much.
I cannot see.
Your icy frost
Has blinded me.

My hands are numb
From reaching out.
There is no fire to single out.
Distorted in the icy mirror
--of others eyes,
I learned to fear.
The roads, too slick to run away -
I keep time on the spot..... and stay.

... So now it's been twelve years...
Do you still live?  We were torn from each other.
Can you still feel the constrictions of your heart
With every memory brought back to life?
And, sometimes, is the past so real, that you
can breathe the very air we breathed
- and feel my skin beneath your fingertips..?

In my world there is none replacing you
Though I have kept my paper dolls for comfort's sake
My cool resolve is straining.
I can still feel the cool coarse texture of your hair
-and long again for innocence.

Will I carry  you in my heart unto my last days
Never knowing what was lost?
This forever unrequited love plays like a tragedy.
Shall we never know our hearts again?
Shall I always dream and awaken empty
-you in your world, -I in mine?

How shall we counsel our children- love our mates?
Are humans never to be allowed perfect love,
But forced to part and seek our surrogates?
I wish for you what I have not:
Conjugal bliss and total amnesia to past perfection,
Renewal of hope - for only that which is attainable
- and gentle sleep without dreams.

A bit of string,
A tangle of yarn,
A trinket, harvested from the gutter;
She's searching for something special in the unwanted.
A bright eye glitters.
A talon snatches.
She flies on...

Bearing her treasures, she floats above her shattered nest
That clings, forlornly to a crooked and lifeless branch.
Her wings grow tired, yet she must complete this task;
-To make whole, what is but a semblance of haven
  -yet, it is HER nest

Lighting upon the branch, she weaves and tucks
and struggles to secure it.
She adorns it with the fruits of endless questing
And believes it into wholeness once again.
With joy, she skitters to the very heart,
Preens her feathers -opens wide her wings
And bursts forth with a heart stopping aria.
-her mating call.

Well,
I'm up all night
aching
And I'm listening to the hum
of the refrigerator;
On the night watch-
Marking the change of days.
Water's dripping
somewhere
and the hollow empty sound
echoes in my mind like
thought.

Oh
I want to lay
this heavy body down.
Why fight the
irresistible pull of
gravity?
But I fight the urge,
Knowing,
that to
lie alone
in the dark-
listening to the hollow empty sound
of thought,
Echoeing in my mind
like water,
hearing the hum
of my body,
I'd be up all night
aching.