No matter how difficult
it should be to lose you in
the muddle of thoughts
and images, tourmaline,
so very blue, in
a diamond and
gold band, guides
you back to me.
Though the swiftness of
a kiss you gave may be
out of reach,
being chased
as though it was
dust racing away
in a windblast.
In the puzzle that years
produces, I want you
again poised
before the keys
wishing the oracle
followed
the lines in my palm
and promised you’d play
A song of love
but only you and I
would hear.

If I were lucky
I’d have a creek
that’s full of fishes
and every kind of arrowhead
like a coming true
of all my birthday wishes.
If I were lucky
you bet I’d always be up late
at a good ol’ western movie
sharing really buttered popcorn
with my
favorite schoolmate.
If I were lucky
I’d give my brother all my work
and shoot the winning shot
Never mind
if I was tired,
I’d skateboard
on the curb ‘til night.
If I were lucky, so lucky
I could dream
the dreams I’ve had.
I’d know my neighbors
and they’d know me .
Thinking of all there is
to do is plenty
to keep me glad.

If she’d known
that what would
become was someone
not willing to be
alone, now wanting to
be left alone.
She never would have
married me.  
Had all been right
not that
anyone else’s happiness
is in my hands or
even understandable
to me.
She never should
have married me.
Not that somehow
claims aren’t made
That children show
how history
ran the right way.
And what were touched
would have
likely been
simply bartered, a
gain or loss
unpondered.

each generation should
have a monarch.
I would press my
white shirt with
sharp creases and on
one dark navy knee,
ask for purpose
through forgiveness.
each generation must
have one life
given wisdom unadorned
by desire, uninterested in
dialogue.  I would lift
my light gray felt hat,
and hold it to the side.
I would take
that blessing or
listen without recourse
to the sentence.
there must be prophet
somewhere, not in
hear-say, divine or not.
I would prepare
for days or weeks
or more, the sinews
of a chest less flesh
than bone.
in knowing in that
audience was the
offer to atone.

You will fall
in love again.
A quiet poet
who sees you
through the curtain,
dressed in plum
and rose.
You will fall
in love again.
A man like audubon.
An artist who can
quiet the fluttering
bird but not
take its life away.
You will fall
in love and be
much wiser now
and know that
creation is the
only ambition.
A younger man
than you but
an older one
than me.
Fall in love again.
So the music that
you've missed
he'll play,
awakening you
at dawn
happy and glorious
again.

Let's walk to
the movies
and leave
in the middle.
Let's run to
the park,
completely unlocked.
Without past,
without future.
You are dressed
in a gown.
The music's
like silver.
We know how
it ends.
We're in love
when it's over.

through a rectangular window
the coldest light of winter.
the whiteness imprisoned
any other color in
the spectrum.
the crusted snow caves way
to jail your steps
unnecessarily.

through the leaded glass window
bare shouldered in the vineyard.
the mulberry light of august.
as though the future
was before us.
A dervishly swirling summer
decants your love
unquestioningly.

through the smoky amber glazing
a storm outside is building.
useless wind lacks clemency.
no wonder love's half-life is blazing.
the broken leaves
sought refuge.
their ashes flutter
helplessly.

through the scope's clear lens
the iridescent ice is breaking.
the world is undiscovered
once again.
osage green iris leaves
or arms that wave off gravity.
someone's love returned,
unexpectedly.