this old year in its last hours
checks its tie
its coat tails
its long trousers
spats
its insalubrious look
gets ready for one last stand
at the times square of our minds

sick in singapore she wrote
i rather be caned that live one more day
and i concurred i rather she'd be caned
than i
here in ohio i hear some winter birds
i swear and i attest
their forlorn cries carry far
and sometimes i believe i see their shapes
remotely flitting far
their cries carry far
here in ohio
where the winter snow came and went in two whole days
its surprising whereabouts both seen and felt
now we are back to flimsy silver lace affixed on
windows

infirm in beijing she said
they all spit!
i took that as a sign she was getting well
here in the post soltice winter there is hope
for longer days ahoy
the maritime soul departs in yet another lost boat
inexplicably tied to the date

sick in mazatlan she said the water makes me puke
i heard later she bought a boat to sail from the west coast
down to the panama canal then up the east coast to new yor
k
that was her plan
but no she gave it up after she bought the boat
she realized she would have to fill it with ***** and nothing
else
choice give up the ship or sink under the influence
i hear the "Rosa Linda" i still tied in long beach pier

I mourn such passing as the days
disclose and hide in a foggy patina of misremembrance
see this was her coat her gloves
the angle of her visor gave us more of her
than i can just now tell i cant even remember the color
of her eyes
and yet firmly believe that we once met

as i get ready to welcome a new year
back to the chalk line
on your marks
ready
set
go to my habitual everyday

here in ohio some winter birds
pester the air with their calls

perhaps they know something about time
I don't know

anyway, let's go meet another minute hour or day

sick  in
ohio i say

there is
a soltice
in your
eyes,

it brings
a change of
season
to every one
that is
around
you.

a gypsy
wind through
your hair,

a deep pool
feeling
inside our
chests,

and then
you take
our breath
away.

I the
old fool,

you the
angel of
your husbands
mornings,

and the
universe
is almost
perfect,

for I
have met
you

once.

and yet
I will dream
about you
a million
times

tonight.

Coming to
know you
now,


I bend and

I am shaped
by your
river"s edge
and pay

homage
to your
words.

and sleep deep
in your
prayers and
reveal long
in the
salvation

of meeting you.


siren's weep
at the sorrow
at love's dead
lies at
your feet.
and as God
as my witness
I sweep
them away,

I send you
night dreams
and slippers
for your
angel feet. and
deep warm
blankets that
surround
you like
a summer
soltice moon.


I open the
window to
the night
and the
nomad wind,


that moves
like a sonnet
melody over
you. but
mostly my
thoughts sleep
beside you,


where forever
your smile
keeps.