Your gums are uneven,
but I think this is what makes you
the portrait of perfection.

If I could paint,
I would paint you
Like an angelic sun with a celestial birth of freedom.

You speak to me at night when the fan's on too high
and I'm too low and sunken to resist
the chill in my bones.

you have broken lamps, chairs,
doors.
hades and hell dancing in your eyes,
the crescendos loud enough to
quake the entire state.
my chest is locked up tight with
locks and grenades.
but all it takes is your fingers
upon my
cheek.
the locks break, the grenades
disintegrate.
you are my kryptonite, you are my fire.

You write of apple picking, carborundum wheels
Swishing scythes and landscapes full of trees
A different place, a different time
But familiarity I find in images like these

Among the downy flakes
We feel your little horse's shake
As the woods fill up with snow

Your wife stares out the window
Standing by the sink
We wonder what she really thinks
The day you move into your country home

A stranger makes an offer for your trees
To sell for profit in the Christmas city
Three cents each is far too low, we agree
So they may stay and he can go

What unexpected face was that
She's sure she saw one winter night?
Alighting from the pony trap
She seeks him out by lantern light

Conversations written down
Stories from your time you tell
Glimpses, snapshots, daily life
Atmosphere conveyed so well