Quiet room and quiet cry.
Tears have paths and there they lie,
on my face as she says 'bye'.

I thought this Easter is with you,
Got blinded by pink hue,
Rose tinted glasses slowly turned blue.

I hope this new person understands,
And she will want us holding hands,
Oh what could my broken heart dream of?

Now I'm in white sitting at the table,
The background noise is our cable,
I'm not talking to my angel anymore.

What you said and what I did,
This innocent little kid,
Inside me,
Is now dying.

But I'll celebrate our Teacher,
Our God and our Preacher,
Who died for all these sins,
And now I see that love wins.

there is beauty and peace in palm trees
as there is loneliness in a summer garden.

The warmth of fresh clothes
from the dryer hugs me
like you used to, Mama

an ample empty Sunday
nothing on the agenda,
the calendars cease their chirping,
it's a kinda free rarely heard

maybe will go see a movie,
walk alongside the East River currents,
rushing somewhere we don't have to be,
maybe we will practice rolling on the floor,
visiting and winding up the grandkids,
then escaping/leaving them with parents,
crazy high and wet & dry

maybe I'll cancel some credit cards,
crack open the briefcase of deferred questions,
have pizza for breakfast,
write half a dozen baker's poems,
finish some more of Dr. Zhivago,
that I started several years ago,
maybe, I'll keep her ******* in our bed,
releasing her when she releases me  
because I released her first

yup,
an empty day ahead
full of the oscillating,
a true east/west directionless
vibrating range of
ample possibilities

On a Wednesday you told me this was no longer something you could do
Then you broke my heart on a Sunday afternoon
Before you walked out you paused, looking around my room
eyes glazing over white walls covered in you
You stood memorizing, staining your mind one last time
On a Sunday afternoon, two years of my life walked out my door
Sunday night, I wished I didn’t love you anymore
but today, I still do

...um, silence?



(sonnet #MMMMMMMDCCCXXXIII)


Where blue skies like we used to know detail
This last, erm, calndar day for all intents
Of March, a Sunday whose sheer calm is thence
As sweet as milk's foam on th'espresso's hale
Breath of strong coffee, frore winds' soft exhale
That playful touch dead leaves 'non skitter hence
Unto, the silence we more feel and sense
Than know while sparrows chatter, lo'd prevail.
The rusty can's orange label glares as twere
From hiding in the bush' thin shadows through
These long months since October thought it poor
To scarf the leaves July was proud tae brew.
And tulip capes look scrawny is't? in tour,
While freighted what? nags at us to jist do.

31Mar19a