Here's to the ephemeral nights carried away by the sounds of birds.
While you were tracing constellations in your popcorn ceiling
I was drowning in the midnight blue, thinking of love,
And how the shape of water reminds me of you,
I packed a bag of dreams for the bus ride down your memory road
To keep me occupied in your dreamscape world
as I chased remnants of wished-upon dandelions
back to the backyard where our laughter still circled with the wind
only to find you waiting with our two-handed promises still knotted together
the dreamscapes shed around us
and sunrise glow burned through our souls
shoulders hunched by weighted confrontations
night escaped hours ago, but I, desperate to hang on, drown in day-glow
My memories and dreams have melted into motion blur
And thoughts of you carry them away to the moon.


I am back to where you left me last, taking reality on a walk,
As a long summer day saunters ahead.

Have writ of the return to our sheltering place so oft,
sanity suggests move on to a topic lesser revered, yet,
the throb of compulsion is irresistible, immovable, irrefutable!
so the fingertips tango step over a white screen dance floor,
looking, for old steps, new combinations, awaiting reincarnation!

as if self-denial was even possible, sanity and need are irrecusable.

Every exodus requires a commencement miracle, ours annualized,
the small SUV engorged, supplies-swollen, a Chanukah oil miracle,
time & space expand - always enough, calm stating, ¡más! accepting
all offerings and longings, rolling merrily along the worn paths and hamlets of Indian origin, voyagers, port to port, till we are destined,

free forced to isle~ferry, to-exhale relief; Here! an embraceable peace.

Water~bounded, isolated isola, surround~sounded tween two spits of land, two forks, two tines, define/defend its in~between persona,
welcoming but skeptical, welcoming but take note, we all become an islander, even by osmosis, distinctive, in~possession of a collective history of heroes memory, inscribed names, on our ferries, highways, & eyes

we all become sheltered islanders, serving by remembering….

Memorial Day 2022
Shelter Island

If we are mark’d to die, we are enow
    To do our country loss; and if to live
    The fewer men, the greater share of honour.
    God’s will! I pray thee, wish not one man more.

    By Jove, I am not covetous for gold,
    Nor care I who doth feed upon my cost;
    It yearns me not if men my garments wear;
    Such outward things dwell not in my desires:

    But if it be a sin to covet honour,
    I am the most offending soul alive.
    No, faith, my coz, wish not a man from England:
    God’s peace! I would not lose so great an honour

    As one man more, methinks, would share from me
    For the best hope I have. O, do not wish one more!
    Rather proclaim it, Westmoreland, through my host,
    That he which hath no stomach to this fight,

    Let him depart; his passport shall be made
    And crowns for convoy put into his purse:
    We would not die in that man’s company
    That fears his fellowship to die with us.

    This day is call’d the feast of Crispian:
    He that outlives this day, and comes safe home,
    Will stand a tip-toe when this day is named,
    And rouse him at the name of Crispian.

    He that shall live this day, and see old age,
    Will yearly on the vigil feast his neighbors,
    And say ‘Tomorrow is Saint Crispian:’
    Then he will strip his sleeve and show his scars,

    And say ‘These wounds I had on Crispin’s day.’
    Old men forget: yet all shall be forgot,
    But he’ll remember with advantages
    What feats he did that day: then shall our names

    Familiar in his mouth as household words:
    Harry the king, Bedford and Exeter,
    Warwick and Talbot, Salisbury and Gloucester,
    Be in their flowing cups freshly remember’d,

    This story shall the good man teach his son;
    And Crispin Crispian shall ne’er go by,
    From this day to the ending of the world,
    But we in it shall be remembered;

    We few, we happy few, we band of brothers;
    For he to-day that sheds his blood with me
    Shall be my brother; be he ne’er so vile,
    This day shall gentle his condition:

    And gentlemen in England now abed
    Shall think themselves accursed they were not here,
    And hold their manhoods cheap whiles any speaks
    That fought with us upon Saint Crispin’s day.

As you drink, may your spirits be lifted  
An ode to a life lived and yet, to live
A toast to the day that has passed and for tomorrow to come

it has been years
you didn't write nor call
i slithered from church
for reach out to you
my savior, my redeemer
like an evangelist
im waiting for you
to come in a beautiful dress
and baptise me with your luscious kiss
so that under my spell
you can tell me im the chosen one
i can tell you you are the one i've been waiting for

Light dims
They doze
They have to be wide awake

The poems of life are sui generis
She wanted to bloom like a happy chrysanthemum
She didn't find happenstance
She's forgotten fascinating covetousness


Miscalculation happens
They're between Scylla and Charybdis
An infernal situation
Barbarism grows up in this so-called civilization

My mom is mischievously, mysterious,
    with her momentum.
But perfectly perpetuating her
    purpose on earth.
Never wavering wondering, or
    wishing for it all.
Only knowing.

She is in her palace.
Filling her chalice.
Toughening the callus,
That's needed..

Necessary negativity to neutralize,
        The highs and balance the lows.
Candidly correcting the corrupt
         With a simple smile.
Lifting the leveled and the loveless,
          With ease.

There is no tail,
That could make a wail.
Only mine of I fail,
But, I won't walk that trail.

I'll take the teachings and trials,
      She will give.
Learning love and limits
      With a laugh.
I just want to say,
       Thank you
For my life and the love you've given.
       You're perfect, just for me.

I waited on many mothers with their daughters today.
my last table had a prada shopping bag with them.
they stayed an hour after my shift ended.
did they think
I didn't have a mother
waiting at home?
...
of course, my mother wasnt at home.
she, too,
waited on many mothers with their daughters today.
i wonder if she realizes,
in another life,
we would be at the table
with a prada shopping bag
too.
give me a few years, mom.
we'll get there.

Birds sound in the distance
Closed eyelids stain red
Sunlight brushes tanned skin
Smells of grass fill the air

A moment of content
Short but sweet
In this ending moment of peace