as you draw the value of rivers
and the fickle nature of clouds
and the real gift of sacrifice
from my favorite book,
i gaze down at the ghostly veins
in this loving cabbage palm,
and wonder how brown ale and stew
is the height of the day
and when it's enough
and how.

******

by a journey north
i make all my old feelings
warm and alert

i remember supposing
my love was covered in frost
at the foot of my favorite spruce trees
gathering pins and needles

i know i fall for those of no sitting
and those spurned by silent blessings

my deepest vaults have safe spots-
difficult to find-
easy to alight-
surprised when beheld-

all chambers listen.

the only thing keeping me fast
is that car and those country roads

this fastens me to your existence
as i note your remarkable motion to
the growing world,
nourishing religion,
and your experienced hands

how does a straightaway of field
bring me to this loss?

the car is the only, holding me fast
to my hopes battling inevitable sadness
towards the unknown glides of our paths

i run far ahead
because i want to see this future
in front
moving past
falling back

*******

even over few solemn days
i want to know how you could leave me here
wrapped in ribbons of resplendent desire
and worried stutters

the only unusuality about your silence
is its absence
                                                         ­                                                         (likely misunderstood)
and such an absense is not voiceless -
simply careless no-speak -
neither sound nor kind listening
is present in this kind of brooding

where are the flowing rivers of your words
if not through the dark caverns in me?
who else has been trading softness with you?

more often have i gripped the hard glass,
the steering wheel,
the stiff drink.

was there a glimpse into shocked discontent
granting you sudden power to retract
from all my easy benevolence?

the trouble is this -
though you've been sweetly resistant,
i've never professed hot beckoning until now

*********

when i turn into the sweetness of sick sheets
and your sleeping hands
i breathe in all the dew on your chest
and smile
realizing
i'm the idiot
waiting