A quiet night, such as this,
reminds me how to believe.

The rain taps at my window,
and I feel the Earth  b r e a t h e.

In a past life she was a mermaid.
Her eyes seaweed green;
bright watery globes,
flecks of aquamarine.

Bones made of coral,
and skin from wet sands.
She devoured lost sailors
and made treasure their hands.

She rolled with the waves
of the great Celtic Sea,
and pulled with the undertow
‘round County Kerry.

I know this quite well,
‘cause in my past life
I was a drunk Irishman --
she was my wife.

(It's the
same old song...)
Knowing the right,
   but doing the wrong.

(...and dance:)
Hoping a way to the heart
   will be found in the pants.

what if we took
a secret trip
some place far away,
the two of us.

who cares where we go?
i do not need
to get away from anything;
i just want
something

something with you that
both of us will remember;
something great --
that only we know about.

i like it when we talk.
but i like it more when we're totally silent.
listening to what the tapping rain
is trying to tell us.

i like when you wear dresses.
but i like it more when you wear sweatshirts
with stretched-out necks.
one shoulder struggling to keep you covered,
the other threatening to reveal more.

i like your smooth hands.
but i like your callused fingers more.
they remind me of how much
I love you
strumming a guitar.

the smallest things about you
take up the the largest place in my mind.