he walks now with such gentleness
he gazes upon the world with wide eyes
that show him secrets
about how everyone is lovable
he treads so lightly with his children
that the imprint left on their memories will be
gentleness
and riddles
and quiet
they will not resent him
but then, when the time comes
to cherish and care
will they join him in the place of forgetting
where asking for so little is asking to be ignored

I don’t think I can find
The place where I can rest
It must arrive some other way

They’re sitting outside on a park bench.
I can see them through the window
so I guess I’m spying, sort of.
He’s leaning in, left leg crossed over right in her direction. His arm is reaching around her, thumb brushing her bare upper arm, eyes scanning her face, Heart on the line.
She is stiff, straight as a stalwart tree with just a slight, very slight tilt.
Away.
He doesn’t notice. Or he does. And he doubles down by gently bending in to kiss her cheek.
She receives it like a too-long hug from an acquaintance.
Her mouth flashes a smile and I’m far away but close enough to see it’s a grimace.
She stands, he stands, and they walk away.
She walks briskly.

what would you say if I told you
that occasionally
sometimes
even more often than that
I don’t like poetry?
it’s pretentious
isn’t it
to think like that  
and yet I do
and yet
not liking turns out to be not enough
to keep the words from rattling around in me then crawling out of me
and landing in rows on a page

The water is deep
And it makes me shudder
It’s unfair, you know
Because when I look at her
My eyes are filled
Only with what I can’t see
But she sees all of me
And does nothing to soothe me
She offers much
But all I get is a glimpse
of my own sad eyes