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tides of dark ink,
the rocks buried
by the drowning waves
where the water  
falls in little grooves,
sweeps the shore like
a sudden gust of wind,
the sea surreal as gleaming stars,
the sea surreal as an evening star.
 Jan 2017 mike dm
Aeerdna
I'd break these feelings
Into litlle pieces
Rearrange them with by bare fingers
Into something
That doesn't hurt as much.

I'd put my soul into the streets
Let it be stepped on by million feet
And still
It wouldn't hurt as much.

I'd take your name, your smile your touches
And put them somewhere in some old pockets
And then it won't hurt so much.

But here I am with all these feelings
And they are not into pieces
No
They are not.

And my soul is still inside me
I can feel it burning, stabbing
Oh, oh, it hurts so much!
And your face, your smile and touches
They are are still here, in my pockets.
Oh, they hurt so much.

So I'll take this mirror in front of me
Break it into little pieces
rearrange them with my bare fingers
Into a face that wears a smile.

And I'll pretend
That it doesn't hurt so much.

It doesn't hurt that much.
For my Robin
 Jan 2017 mike dm
spysgrandson
he took the cliche sabbatical
when his wife died, careening through
the Rockies to the jagged Pacific coast,
seeing old lovers along the way

ending in Iowa
with his daughter's family:
flat lands, with no ups and downs
surprise turns, or fatal strokes

there the grief was level
his daughter of strong faith
his granddaughter young enough
to yet see heaven in blue sky

mornings after Cheerios
she would lead him around the section
edifying him about the livestock, their purpose;
she introduced him to Harriet

her pet pig;
he couldn't help but think of his Hazel
and if the consonant and vowel were coincidental
or a contrivance of a child's supple mind

his granddaughter spoke of Hazel
with sublime ease, absent the halting
staccato utterances of adults when
they mentioned his wife's name

after all, his grandchild saw her
in a passing cloud, or in the glint
of moonlight on the pond,  
in clear azure sky

soon it came time to say goodbye
to the hog, who had been with the child
a sixth of her years--but she knew this
was the way of things

feeding and fondling new things
watching them grow, becoming cautious
when their mass exceeded your own
when they began to look away

'twas then it was time
all God's creatures would lose footing
even in this flat place,
and go to sleep

though the child would not forget
Hazel or Harriet, for the latter was on the table,
sizzling and succulent, the former on the mantel,
framed in gold, smiling with eyes open
 Jan 2017 mike dm
taia
the cozy nights in
spent cuddled up next to you
my serenity
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