A beautiful calm
seated
on a board,
above the sun
glistened water,
That rarity for you,
a moment of peace
only rejected by the
twist of the wedding band.
With so many desiring,
or lost, the boy dies,
thorns
of a black rose
gripped in the palm.
So many
without fortune,
seeing only loss.
You in the door frame,
when you were
not nearly to the end
of the mirrored maze.
Not having or maybe
not knowing any plan.
Except for now,
the gift of
less, not more, saving
myself from myself.
Not in your leaving.
But in your return...
With *******
would be saint Christopher’s
forewarning
from the front garden.
please stay
far away from the
uncertain road.

You are blue and
I am gray
In the smoke that
curls from the fire.
I don’t know how
To move again after a
Lie.  
You are the green
And I am the red
In the tree that
Rises to heaven
Celebrating peaceful
Souls saved without
Knowing their redemption.
You are the white
And I am the black
In the words that
Become a way to
Give love away.
You are the beginning
And I am the end
You saw the invisible
And you knew
What could not
Could never
Could ever
End with a
a life
sealed by the
loss of a
stolen love letter.

I seem to want
what’s impossible
Not wishing to
go to the sand
but have the beach
come to me.
I don’t seem to
want what is possible.
That you’ll be
happy In the life
of another.
I seem to see what
is not visible.
Reading your lips
despite hearing
and being less
than for-ever-ness.
Time, the sense
most personal,
it started in
your arms
and ended with
leaving them.

The blues have had me
Without doubt and
Yours are yours and
Nothing I know about
Nothing I know about

There’s been pain
In my heart, without doubt
yours is yours
and nothing I know about
nothing I know about

I’ve feared the wait
on the court steps
No doubt
Your fears are yours
and nothing I know about.
Nothing I know about

I’ll stand alone when judged
As in my dreaded dreams
No doubt.
Your nights
are yours
And nothing
I know about.
Nothing I know about

I’ve turned my
back without mercy
No doubt
Your loneliness
says that.
And what is yours
Is mine, so indelible
is the exile
And something I
know about.
Something I know about

Thieves and lovers
Lovers and thieves
Stealing silver and
Promises
What peril,
ignored.
They linger
Too long
coerced
by the need.
It’s a trap
Without fail.
Ticking through
time so
So true is
that jail.
Lovers and thieves
Thieves and lovers
not happy,
the loss of a
half crown.
Obsessed with
what’s left.
Thieves and lovers
Lovers and thieves
In jealousy
and envy
it’s what I have sown.
Not a treasure
filled chest.
Instead with the
whispers and tricks
I’m spending
the dark night in
sleep without rest.

From an open window,
I wanted
Warm air
to cling as
another skin
carried by sun
awakening me
each morning
Ready to swim.
in your same suit
The same old thing.
You making art
And me hoping for
a word
with a ring.
Time won’t be
banked, moving
on un-reined
to become
the same
old thing.
Not remembering
whether you don’t want
this or
don’t know
that you do.
Moving ahead,
a mind grinding its
way through
as it must to
find water below
thick ice without
an augur for spring.
It is for some, a beginning
and others ending
what was and would be
the same
old thing.

I ask myself
though there is no answer,
I know.
Of what will bring
me solace.
Not the camellia that
comes with snow
I could not suffer
winter too.
The peony though
brave to risk the spring
misplaced here
with its good fortune.
The rose, no, no,
You, un-temperamental,
know no pretense of
a diva.
I need to spare the scotch
Or else be sentimental.
Surely the yellow, then
brown,
I wish for their plain
happiness.
And the good they
left in place.
It must be
the sunflower,
their stems in
van gogh’s vase.