No room remains stilled
If with your presence filled.
Captivating smile
Open with no guile.
Living life of play
Each and every day.
To love without cease
A nephew a niece.

Snow and sun enjoy
Unparted from Lord.
This your golden boy
Enjoy your reward,
Unbreakable chord

I laid nose-to-nose, in tall, old grasses, with a spirited coyote, some nights ago.
He said to me, with lips unparted and low, shiny eyes - to listen.

Hesitantly, I inched forward and nudged that coyote with my face, prodding him for something more.

But, nothing came.
He simply stared back at me, unblinkingly.

“I listen!”
I shouted with a heart on fire.
“I listen more than anyone I know!”

The coyote continued his staring game, quieting my bosomed flames.
Stubborn - they erupted, something ugly, from the valley, into the mountaintop.
Spilling from eyes, in the mountainside, I screamed back into his so loud,
The mountain ached from its shut in echo.

Patient " the coyote waited.
So, I stopped.

Somehow surprised, I found that, after the flames subsided into greys of ashes, in silence, I had begun to listen.
That coyote’s eyes were urging eyes, unmoving " unrelenting.

Obedient, I drew forth my worn, careful bag out and placed it, gently, in the dirt between us.
The coyote snatched it, in the grain between our breaths, and held it between clenched teeth.

I glared at him with challenging eyes " he stared back at me, just the same.
I reached out to grab it, but halfway there, I heard the coyote command me,

“Stop.”

The coyote lay there, my ashes raging about loudly " still silent, my bag between his teeth.
As the ashes settled, his glaring eyes mellowed, and I watched as he gobbled it up.

--

A crow cawed somewhere.
The full moon shone down approvingly.

My soul sighed once.
My body followed.




The coyote slept -
I bowed my head in silence.

I stand here today
alone, brokenhearted,
to say
I do not understand Love.
No, not at all.
Its easy when new,
or newly unparted,
when the flame of desire outshines every flaw.

But, when seen through the eyes
of three decades behind us,
it doesn't seem all that thrilling,
that new
or that grand.
It wears like a harness with the weight of forever.
So tell me,
then why is it in so much demand?

I've been told,
while its true,
that your heart is a muscle;
it doesn't get stronger, but weaker from use.
I thought I knew better.
I thought I was Rustle.
But that granite presumption
she did disabuse.

sometimes it is there
a hint, a gleam, a glare-
a pulse.

the silent echo of my thoughts
scream from my unparted lips.
whisper loudly that
I could, no, not possibly
care less.

sometimes, i find that you’re here
like a ghost, your phantom form will appear
and engulf.

a transparent wave falls
over my head and I am unable to swim.
tread water that is really air.
particles fly by my hands
and then suddenly i’m aware.

you’ve left a trace,
a vestige upon my mind.
a mark, in a place
somewhere in time.

imprint still fading,
i touch at the dust and
my hands feel *****
but leave every surface clean.

Step right up, step right up!
A coin for a chance at the trembling cusp.
The seat is set, the lever waits,
A single shot will shift the fates.

You perch so high, so poised, so proud,
Barely breathing—tautly wound.
Lips unparted, nerves unseen,
But oh, I know where pressure keens.

A finger lingers, teasing slow,
Tracing circles soft as snow.
Do you feel the wooden creak?
The quiver tight beneath your seat?

The game is rigged—you know it’s true.
Each throw a taunt, a test of you.
A strike? A gasp. A stall? A plea.
Another round—you beg for three.

The air is thick, the crowd draws tight,
A hush beneath the neon light.
A flick, a snap, a sudden break—
A splash, a shriek, a hot mistake.

The water laughs, a cruel refrain,
Your breathless thrill, your flushed disdain.
Dripping, drowning, shame’s disguise—
And oh, the prize behind your eyes.

I toss the ball and watch it sink—
Your shudder sweet, your cheeks deep pink.
And here I stand, my aim still true,
For what’s more fun than toppling you?