Perhaps they expect a pool
offerings of rare coffee
from Ethiopia

Instead of
a view of hydrangea
plus pale ale in mugs

Conversation entails
irrelevant niceties
of trivial events

Smiles exchanged
chairs rearranged
subtlety reigns

Another chance
to touch humanity
willfully aborted

You run through the left turn
U-turn to make a right
On 85 to home
Fighting constant deluge
Until first time in days
Sunshine mixes ahead
Mountains display beauty
Green on green and yellow
Undulating valleys
peaks pressed by rolling fog
Sifting white above creeks
Flushing nature's cleansing
If only rain carries sins
to the depths of south seas
leaving sweet redemption
sifted along the banks

Bed sheets sing a morning tune.
Outside two house wrens
announce daybreak.  
Snuggling near her lover’s cheek,
she brushes a stale kiss across his ear.  

He is her husband.
She likes to think of him as her lover.  
She mouths a good morning
before asking
why don't men come on to me anymore?  

Silence hangs like a pall over the bed.
Balancing on her elbow,
she searches his face
awaiting an answer.   

The wrens repeat their greeting.  
He recasts her question   
thinking she needs support.
“You wonder why men don’t come on to you?  
Because you are loved dear,
because you are loved.”

His photograph, dusty and fading

Finds a spot amid

Hair brushes, bobby-pins and

Packets of make-up scattered beneath

The black and white portrait,

A college photo,

rescued from an old

family album after his mother died,

when they were dancing in step

through their days.  The photo,

slightly creased, changed less

then them. Laughing has dwindled,

loving glances seldom, touching

has vanished.

A radio blares an advertisement.

A special for retouching photos

Her thoughts dwell on retouching a marriage

On retouching her life,

on keeping the photo.

What mattered/
about that night/
was that he touched/
her neck/
with care/
felt deep in her bones/
and that he/
gathered her/
clothing/
clasped her ankle/
pulling it through/
one silky leg opening/
of still damp *******/
and kissed her/
inner thigh/
like he was devouring
a freshly picked/
peach
------

She feels no confusion
her lips on his eyes
blue as a mountain lake
Comfort enfolds her
like the first time
her cheek touched his
bicep as they walked
enmeshed.
Surrounded by warmth,
fear has
fallen to the trail.
Trust
fills her heart.

The Bradford Pear died

Our children left home

The Maple out back

Is a nuisance

The Star Magnolia

Blooms early this spring