I don’t know why she was so easily frustrated
or why she spent hours on end,
at the end,
on the floor compulsively cutting
butterflies out of book pages.
I don’t know why she grew to hate her birthday so much
or why she seemed to become increasingly more and more indecisive.
I don’t know why she began to write those letters,
that jumbled, nonsensical prose
that tumbled, then rose again
only to fall again,
end and begin again.
What begins only just ends again.
And again.

I don’t know why I write in third person
or why I write these letters
or why I can’t make decisions
or why I hate my birthday so much
or why I’m burning these butterflies,
watching the flames feast on their wings.
And I don’t know why I think these things,
the things they say not to think.
But I think that the thoughts I think can’t just be unthought,
that thinking these things can’t be untaught,
like I can’t be untaught to love you.
And that’s where things get really confusing
because you’re not the you that I knew
anymore.
And I suppose I’m not the you that you knew anymore either,
but in my heart and somewhere in the attics of my brain
we’re together, alive again.

The snow was blowing among the trees. In large wet flakes it tumbled down.
My captain turned, as if to speak, but from his lips there came no sound.
A red rose bloomed there on his chest -staining dark the Wehrmacht grey.
I looked in horror as he pitched face forward to the ground.
“******” I yelled and ducked for cover. The copse of trees echoed the sound.

Somewhere out there he awaits; the Devil’s son, the cunning foe.
He’s stalked our party for three days yet leaves no footprints in the snow.
I served in France in Forty –one; before   these Russians were our foes.
I shiver but it’s not from fear; it’s just that we lack winter clothes.
I motion briskly with my right hand, I think the shooter must be there
my corporal nods and starts to move; perhaps he can outflank this man.

My soul is black for I’ve done some things;
  for which I once would have been ashamed.
I saw the Jewess try to shield her babe
as I placed them in a common grave.

This man out there, a warrior; he risks his life upon command.
He is clever, this one, he waits his chance.
Either its him or me that’s dammed.
The drifting snowflakes hide his breath.
But He’s still out there this I know.

My Captain lies still upon the earth
and is slowly covered by the snow.

We are soldiers who risk our lives.
We sacrifice for the Fatherland.
We dream of a woman and a warm bed
Never of Death’s cold clammy hand

My men cry out, the fox is flushed
The ****** has at last been found.

It’s true what they say of the bullet that kills you;
I never even heard the sound.

Come with me to where the water hits the sand
To the end of mystery
And take my hand.
The endless roads and maps
Will end and all that's left
Is deciding to sit and rest,
Feeling all is right.
And a light appears
That reflects us in your eyes
We are together,
I am me forever
And hope you feel the same.
Lost in the sounds
Of you simply breathing
The world is my illusion
Amongst fog.
You stand as a clear vision
But now pleading on the edge
To hold you till the end
Perhaps long after.
Won't you come with me?
Let's go together
There to belief
That beyond uncertainty is you and me.

Tragic smiles and detached
frozen shoulders,
moats defending castles made of a billion grains of sand
This rainy season has left you miraculously
dry?  
And for what?
The only points you proved
were those that top the
bitter spikes that lance from your heart.

my dog stops to mark
each abandoned Christmas tree
that has found its grave
on the sidewalk of Keswick Road

Tonight I am walking in boots with laces
instead of a Velcro post-surgery shoe
Each step echoes an ache
that cannot ever fully heal

Half of the porches in Baltimore
are adorned with holiday lights
others with pumpkins, forgotten

The fruit bowl in my kitchen still holds
fruit given months ago by a sympathetic neighbor
Some spots on the apples from Ari
are finally becoming
soft and brown – I eat around the rot

My torso and arms are strewn
with black and blue kisses,
the result of weeks on crutches
My bruised ribs confess:
the real hurt was under here

Tonight I am walking
with a swollen foot, a swollen heart
but no longer broken

A blanket of white on the ground.
The same covering the trees around.
Wind blowing the snow in my face.
Honestly, I love this wintery place.
It's home to everything I know.
In January, all we can see is the snow.

It's cold, **** cold,
I blame the north wind.
It pushes the ice on Huron
Against the shore
Making great dunes of frozen water,
Cooling the wind passing over.
It penetrates my outer layer,
Warming itself between inner clothes.
Dampening my cheek;
Cold whispers in my ears;
A cruel embrace,
Girdling me,
Seductive as the dead.
It wraps my house
Like it knows my address;
An unannounced visitor,
Reluctant to leave.
It's mid-January;
Glad the sun's casting
Longer shadows,
Before the wind retires.

January was the first of many months.
February is the second time I realized that when
March rolled around that you wouldn't be there in
April to hold me.
May wasn't any better because,
June came too quickly.
July came in with fireworks but all I got was burns from the sparks.
August days were spent picking up grains of sand hoping in
September would be different.
October I carved a smile on me instead of the pumpkins but
November the scar started to show.
December. I made it thought another year alone.