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Writing poems may save my place in the book
of life. But I think my life is better seen
from a distance. Close up there are issues, dents
and some old popcorn under my chair.
I am thinking of you.
                      I am always thinking of you.
                                      Mary Oliver
I am sad and
I am confused.
I want to reach out
help you tie your shoe.
Ask you why the anger,
ask you why you can't
acknowledge what I have
done for you.
Ask you why you can't
be honest with me,
deal with me honestly.
You have taken away
from me a treasure.
You have created a riff
in a friendship.
You don't seem to care
about the truth.
I am sad, and
I am confused,
I want to
be done with you.
Small birds at feeder
a banshee blue jay swoops in
sudden burst of wings
A mouse glides through the
ferns and fallen leaves and finds
the lady slippers.
Would it seem presumptuous, perhaps impertinent,
of me to invite you for a cup of tea on a sunny Sunday
morning at a small shop on a well- trafficked street?
And, it you were to agree would you question me,
over that cup of tea, or before, as to why I wish
your company on a sunny Sunday morning?

I might answer, before that cup of tea, that your interests
interest me, and given what I see, you seem quite shy (and
I have heard this is true) and I think you might be more
inclined to reply over a cup of pekoe brew on a safe and
sunny well-trafficked street on a Sunday morning.

And, what would the object be, you might ask, of meeting
over a cup of tea and what would a pertinent question be?

The why and why not of what you know and what you do,
the who and why and what of you  cannot all be explained
over a cup of tea on a sunny Sunday morning, but a small
answer, say a cupful, with one who takes pleasure in
interesting conversation with one who seems interesting
is all the question and answer needed on a sunny Sunday
morning and a cup of tea.
She left  for nine days
did not say to me goodbye
so I sit and cry.
In each seed I plant

I think must lie God herself

How else to explain.
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