Our youth was seasoned
With greens and blues
When your skin scorched me.
Still burns.

Could we but flip
Pages like clock hands;
We need only agree,
And nocturnal waves
Would lap again,
And all the world
Would fall in time
Upon itself.

Elements, such as we,
Cannot.
Your present calendar
Has days X-ed off,
Days checked on.
Times have changed
Peoples and places.

I remain yours.

"I took you in from the cold.
Your dark blue eyes placed me
In your soul.
I was once lost, but had to
Help, and defend for myself.
That's when she jumped in
My arms, and started licking
My face."

Good morning,
Good morning,
The day's just begun.
May yours be filled
With much laughter and fun!

sitting, waiting, praying
hours on end
all worth it when u land the big one

The monk raises
the host
during Mass,
high between fingers

and thumbs,
head and eyes
look up,
the Body of Christ,

he tones.
I watch
the old monk eat;
his jaw moving

in a semi circle
as he ate,
his eyes down
on his plate,

an old French
soup spoon
half way
from bowl to lips.

I remember her hands
sorting through
my garments
for the fellow,

her eyes intent,
her fingers nimble
as an artisan's.
A French peasant monk

peels potatoes
in the kitchen
with the seriousness
of Van Gogh

in a darker mood,
thinking of deeper things
than wine or food.

Man is a curious animal
who afraid of his own mortality
went and conjured up spirituality.

Which begs a curious question
if religion our fears meant to quell
why then go,
and conjure up hell.

How I miss your laughing smile
When the sky turns dark
And the cold winds howl

I miss your warm and loving touch
When the weight of the world
Proves to be too much

I miss the us we used to be
When our hearts were young
And our souls were free

I miss the dreams we used to dream
When the world was as simple
As it used to seem