Let's
get up earlier
witness more mornings like these
before breakfast

collect as many symphonies in our hearts
as we can, be like the sun
touching surfaces

lets catch glimpses of tiny fat birds
sunbathing on high wires,
be like cars sheathed
in crusted ice,
waiting to be born into tones
of different colors
by the warmth of the coming day

let's awaken to the crunch
of a silent frost of a morning

and sing.

It never makes any sense
That white noise
Unconnected but harmonious

Men and
Women are like
Lost notes upon a sea sound

Everyone struggling
To be heard
To be remembered
To be

Discovered

I cannot tell
Where these sounds
Began or where
They will be going

For we are all
Lost in fate or
Destiny -

Whatever one calls a lifetime -

But perhaps not lost,

Maybe

Yet to be found

The sun dial turns
As we
Are still around

Your mind and you are our Sargasso Sea,
London has swept about you this score years
And bright ships left you this or that in fee:
Ideas, old gossip, oddments of all things,
Strange spars of knowledge and dimmed wares of price.
Great minds have sought you- lacking someone else.
You have been second always. Tragical?
No. You preferred it to the usual thing:
One dull man, dulling and uxorious,
One average mind- with one thought less, each year.
Oh, you are patient, I have seen you sit
Hours, where something might have floated up.
And now you pay one. Yes, you richly pay.
You are a person of some interest, one comes to you
And takes strange gain away:
Trophies fished up; some curious suggestion;
Fact that leads nowhere; and a tale for two,
Pregnant with mandrakes, or with something else
That might prove useful and yet never proves,
That never fits a corner or shows use,
Or finds its hour upon the loom of days:
The tarnished, gaudy, wonderful old work;
Idols and ambergris and rare inlays,
These are your riches, your great store; and yet
For all this sea-hoard of deciduous things,
Strange woods half sodden, and new brighter stuff:
In the slow float of differing light and deep,
No! there is nothing! In the whole and all,
Nothing that’s quite your own.
Yet this is you.

Bird against the night,
White fingertip against
A negative held up to light.

Whisper, soft by definition,
Work your maledictions
So I have something to react to.
The way you talk it would seem
Those words have been
Asleep for years. I’d
Hardly want you to
Strain- sprain anything.
Spring it on me,
Show the Bruce Lee
Of your larynx. Strike
Me or smite me, bury
Your fist and pronounce
That solar syllable before-
Before the storm cedes.

We’ve all been waiting for
The blue flick, the
Clear blur, the handle
Toward your hand. Spit
It into the light. I don’t
Really care, I just need it out.
Cut around it anymore
And you might inadvertently
Break the clouds. It’s a cheap
Trick but it’s all I ever had
Over you.

Night bloodies the beach.
A moral goes unheard  like
An ignored spectator.

I want to know what your favorite is
Because I think it would tell me lots about you.

Whether you care most about intent
Or style or diction or timing.
Or if meaning is your all.

And then maybe I can use that for us
And see what you notice most there:
Intent, style, diction, meaning.
When our lips touch, do you judge it by the repetition
Or by the desire?

Slowly, I will come to understand you.