You are winter afternoons;
You're light jackets and khakhi shirts;
You are long fingers twined around a cup of chai;
You're the authentic exotic experience without the strings.
My cool heat that stings the back and caresses the arms,
You blow hot/blow cold
Alternately.
When you're hot
And my hands are stuffed in my pockets,
You are gentle and intense
And full of purpose
But with the spring,
You whirl away in dust,
Leaving your tropical wonderland
Bitter, barren and absent.
My Persephone that retreats to the underworld,
You take away my flowers
Too soon.
Let me have May with you;
Wait for me to catch up.
Slow down.
I'm counting in clicks of the clock
Our ons and our offs.

I used to love the sound of rain
The way it pittered on a windows pain;
The way it patterned on a cobbled lane
I used to love the rain.

You pealed across my sky like thunder
While I, like lightning, zigged and zagged in blunder;
On darkened night you aimed to plunder
But this golden heart had been torn asunder.

I can't account for the ways I've healed
Or which battles on wounded knee I've kneeled;
It's seen on every battle field
The way I've fought, yelled, whispered, & keeled.

Don't go far off, not even for a day
Don't go far off, not even for a day,
Because I don't know how to say it - a day is long
And I will be waiting for you, as in
An empty station when the trains are
Parked off somewhere else, asleep.

Don't leave me, even for an hour, because then
The little drops of anguish will all run together,
The smoke that roams looking for a home will drift
Into me, choking my lost heart.

Oh, may your silhouette never dissolve
On the beach, may your eyelids never flutter
Into the empty distance. Don't LEAVE me for
A second, my dearest, because in that moment you'll
Have gone so far I'll wander mazily
Over all the earth, asking, will you
Come back? Will you leave me here, dying?

I can write the saddest poem of all tonight.

Write, for instance: "The night is full of stars,
and the stars, blue, shiver in the distance."

The night wind whirls in the sky and sings.

I can write the saddest poem of all tonight.
I loved her, and sometimes she loved me too.

On nights like this, I held her in my arms.
I kissed her so many times under the infinite sky.

She loved me, sometimes I loved her.
How could I not have loved her large, still eyes?

I can write the saddest poem of all tonight.
To think I don't have her. To feel that I've lost her.

To hear the immense night, more immense without her.
And the poem falls to the soul as dew to grass.

What does it matter that my love couldn't keep her.
The night is full of stars and she is not with me.

That's all. Far away, someone sings. Far away.
My soul is lost without her.

As if to bring her near, my eyes search for her.
My heart searches for her and she is not with me.

The same night that whitens the same trees.
We, we who were, we are the same no longer.

I no longer love her, true, but how much I loved her.
My voice searched the wind to touch her ear.

Someone else's. She will be someone else's. As she once
belonged to my kisses.
Her voice, her light body. Her infinite eyes.

I no longer love her, true, but perhaps I love her.
Love is so short and oblivion so long.

Because on nights like this I held her in my arms,
my soul is lost without her.

Although this may be the last pain she causes me,
and this may be the last poem I write for her.

I can feel you losing interest
I can feel you leaving
or, at least,
wanting to

I know I'm hard to deal with
I know I get so sad that everything hurts
I know I get so sad that I hurt everyone
but I swear I love you

But I understand if you need to go
because there's someone out there
who's going to treat you exactly how you should be
someone who doesn't get sad
and push you away
someone who can handle the world
and doesn't think about leaving constantly

I understand if you don't love me anymore
I don't either

-e.w.

don't feel sorry for me.
I am a competent,
satisfied human being.

be sorry for the others
who
fidget
complain

who
constantly
rearrange their
lives
like
furniture.

juggling mates
and
attitudes

their
confusion is
constant

and it will
touch
whoever they
deal with.

beware of them:
one of their
key words is
"love."

and beware those who
only take
instructions from their
God

for they have
failed completely to live their own
lives.

don't feel sorry for me
because I am alone

for even
at the most terrible
moments
humor
is my
companion.

I am a dog walking
backwards

I am a broken
banjo

I am a telephone wire
strung up in
Toledo, Ohio

I am a man
eating a meal
this night
in the month of
September.

put your sympathy
aside.
they say
water held up
Christ:
to come
through
you better be
nearly as
lucky.

I'm trying
to get better,
to not be sad,
to be okay

I promise.

-e.w.