When I think of those days, I only
remember gathering wood in the cold
in my black coat so I could get a fire going
in the cast iron of a gray early morning;
I dream what it is to be a man lying
beside a delicate woman, sad and quiet,
playing the mandolin, looking at her as
if she were a couple of plums together like
a cluster within reaching distance on the branch;
thinking of the lunar dust of her face, and how
her fingers were like feathers; I heard
the silence of the mill wheel not turning
in the stream and the wild turkeys not drinking;
I knew they had hypnotized themselves wide-
eyed and staring into the steel ax of the creek.

A rhythmic poem
Beethoven danced with Mozart
uncanningly words

If I could
I'd take your smile
put it away until times weren't kind
I'd add it to the wink you left behind
That would carry me through most anything.

If I could
I'd preserve your kiss
Keep it safe until times of loneliness
Reminds me distance keeps you from me
I'd open the lid and let the touch
Carry me to you