Through the dullness of my senses
I pause and wait a moment
for you to rise up
and pierce my soul
with your  love

... still waiting...

Look at the moon in a telescope
how pristine and awesome it appears
to us here on this spoiled planet
polluted and darkened by fears
of human egos run wild.

The light of the moon brings a smile
Mama used to say: look at the man in the moon
but the moon is without guile
virus updates and bad news.
May some particle of wonder
keep us whole and awaken the muse.

each morning I get up
and swim in the ocean of your love
your salt soaks into my every pore
and awakens me
to what is real

this daily swim strengthens my muscles
especially my heart
and the deeper I dive into you
the stronger I get

the poetry of your being
surrounds me
and this immersion buoys me
to breath in freshness
and make me alive

when I need to be awakened
and my writing confidence is shaken
when I seem to be too far apart
in urgent need of loving hearts

where there’re too many un-live things
and I need to hear a poet sing
the times I need a different take
or can’t move on from some dark ache

I want to see some twinkling stars
and leave the shades of stinking bars
or caught in dark of hellish nights
and seek a flight to brilliant heights

Word,
let me be your mouth.
You,
you be the ink
that in my veins flows.

There we sit in our partial darkness
her in her soft and easy chair
me in mine so I can see her face
and the smile or frown residing there
for these brief moments of grace
her reading from our spiritual book
me listening, waiting for angels to arrive
in a story or words that’ll become a sacred hook
into my soul or life’s burgeoning archive.

Evening after evening sometimes so tired
we can barely hold on and avoid sleeping
right there, each old body in its easy chair
sometimes laughing sometimes weeping
she my wife, partner in this long life
both of us gathering our souls
in this splendid crucible of light.

I wonder if poetry is
a humble attempt to reduce
the magnificence or terror of dreams
to words.