I’ll never own an aeroplane
But I’ve jumped out of one a dozen times
And felt the freedom of a Meadowlark.

I’m not an expert on French wine
But I’ve been up the Eiffel Tower
And looked out over the City of Lights.

There is no building named for me
But I stood on a scaffold in a burned out cathedral
And saw it as a beginning, and not as the end.

I’ll never wear a giant diamond ring
But I’ve glued sparkling bits of glass
To a thousand hand made things of beauty.

I’ll never walk a long red carpet
Though I have starred in more ‘productions’
Than any actress with gold statues on her shelf.

They’ll never give a dinner just for  me
But I’ve fed hundreds with the best meal of their life
And cleaned up all the dishes afterwards.

I do not need a body guard
But I’ve watched guardsmen stamp their feet
Outside a Palace that looked nothing like a home.

I’ll never write an acceptance speech
But I’ve seen lines I’ve written in print
And read them to various audiences.

I’ll never stand upon the moon
But I’ve seen the Fjords and Hula Girls
And stolen my very own iceberg.

I’ll never be Mother of the Year
With many outstanding Children
But I created perfection once
And she’s my legacy to the world.
                      ljm

I look at you and see what will not be;
I have been waiting an eternity.
The hope has never dwindled, but has grown,
A longing, no, an ache I've never known.

I look at you and see what will not be;
Yet, somehow you're still captive over me.
The shore with ceaseless waves to reminisce,
meanwhile beneath the moon's so distant kiss.

I look at you and see what will not be;
I cannot help myself, so I give in,
allow the cold salvation of your skin,
if only to prolong eternity.

THE THINNESS OF A SHADOW

from the very last time
I saw you
to the story

of your death
unable to comprehend
that you do not exist

you to me
are living
yet

you an early morning
silhouette
looking at clouds

as was your want
a living
breathing entity

every moment
now made more
precious than the last

I hold you so
in thought
refusing to let you go

and so
it is
always so

your footstep
as you
cross the floor

whistling Wish
you were
here

the story
of your death
I refuse to believe in

as if it happened
to a someone else
another Brian...not mine

You stepping through
the door
so full of light

stepping through time
"Come on Bud...
I gotta go!"

your death
the shibboleth
I can not utter

you forever always
this
early morning silhouette

Longer than she loved me has she only tolerated
What she cannot change - her birth -
Though loudly she proclaims that isn't true.

Longer than her childhood are the years
That flowed between the bad one and our now,
When mended teacups still won't hold the tea,

No matter that I add more glue and paint
And fill it carefully with nothing very hot
And place it always on a saucer.

Still it leaks and threatens to give way
Scalding both of us again
With selfish pain and angry, spiteful hurt.

More days than she was mine have passed
As I became bystander on the curb
To only watch and never join her on parade.

More weeks than I was happy am I sad-
I dropped the cup-she stepped on it
And now the ragged pieces don't quite fit.

It makes no difference how I tried
Or what I paid in pain and guilt,
I cannot make the teacup whole.

So I give her the newest one
And take the mended one for me.
I never really cared for tea and we're all out of cocoa.
ljm