Oh I wish so much you would remember
those happy days when we were friends.
Life in those times was so much brighter
and the sun was hotter than today.
Dead leaves picked up by the shovelful.
You see, I have not forgotten.
Dead leaves picked up by the shovelful,
memories and regrets also,
and the North wind carries them away
into the cold night of oblivion.
You see, I have not forgotten
the song that you sang for me:
It is a song resembling us.
We lived together, the both of us,
you who loved me
and I who loved you.
But life drives apart those who love
ever so softly
without a noise
and the sea erases from the sand
the steps of lovers gone their ways.

Thy unimaginable wings,
Where dwells the breath of all persisting stars,
Come back to me.

Please.

You left me so suddenly
So soon…

Too soon.

Your exulting soul sank into mine with each embrace.
Forever imprinted will I be.
Forever scarred will I stay.
With all persisting stars,
You belong with me,

And forever I with thee.





[help with e.e.cummings]

It's Blue
      But so are you.
Not that sad Blue/
                                Reflecting from T.V.
But that happy Blue/
                                    That with you I see.

All my life I've dreamed of Pink.
Never written/
                          I don't dream in ink.
But it was happy/
                               I always said
I wanted to be Pink when I was dead.

There are times when I feel like I am dying,
and I never wish it were true more than when I realize it isn't.

My imagination runs wild like wind through wheat,
catching on the trailing edges of her summer dress as she runs by,
and away.

My fingers just cannot hold on.

I can see through her dress when the sun hits it right,
and I can feel the waves her hip bones made
those times when we came together in that field,

but she is a mystery now,
no more familiar than the feeling of the bottom of the sea.

I close my eyes, dream of her, and fade into the soil.

this will sound more offensive than I mean it.
knowing that, read at your own risk.

I do not need a big brother as
witness to my life from the sky.
I do not need a ominous figure
watching my every movement.
I am not vain enough to care
about some deity watching me
like a television set, like a rat in
a cage with three trillion others.
I do not need to feel connected to
something higher than myself,
something higher than you, love.
I do not need to shake hands with God,
for I have met love in all her forms.
and in that, I found my religion.

This morning I stretched out, glamorous and lazy, planning to be purposefully late. Dismissive and smiling. What real life?

I took my time, browsing through my thoughts and movements carefully and deliberately. Washed my hair in the sink for the fun and dirt of it. I still didn’t feel quite tired enough. I spoke with clarity and wit, despite the crusts caked over the leftover sparkles in my eyes.

Remember the days of our first happiness,
how strong we were, how dazed by passion,
lying all day, then all night in the narrow bed,
sleeping there, eating there too: it was summer,
it seemed everything had ripened
at once.  And so hot we lay completely uncovered.
Sometimes the wind rose; a willow brushed the window.

But we were lost in a way, didn't you feel that?
The bed was like a raft; I felt us drifting
far from our natures, toward a place where we'd discover nothing.
First the sun, then the moon, in fragments,
stone through the willow.
Things anyone could see.

Then the circles closed.  Slowly the nights grew cool;
the pendant leaves of the willow
yellowed and fell.  And in each of us began
a deep isolation, though we never spoke of this,
of the absence of regret.
We were artists again, my husband.
We could resume the journey.