Points of stone July 17, 2014

We press against the cold stone

Two trolls under

The drip, drip, drip

Of this old stone bridge

Each edge of the

hewn stone

pressing in us

as we press together

soft against soft

until even that

gets hard,

the drip, drive drip

as potent as a

Chinese water torture

Only this is not China

And this is not water,

And the bridge is not

Refuge against the storm

We feel rising inside,

Our lives

Circumscribed

By this arch above us

And the rushing water

At our feet,

The swish of traffic

Rushing overhead

Unaware of our haunting,

We not so much

Fearing sunlight

As preferring the mood of gray

Twilight shares,

Needing no shades of it

To enhance the ache,

No artificial inducements

To increase the edge

Of what bookies out of us

Like points of stone

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These circles of life Nov 8, 2024

 

Almost a year ago maybe more she danced around the May Poll, not in May, but for her mother's birthday, on the sand of a historic Beach town I nearly went to when she was there, a dreadful coincidence, I think, since she if she had seen me there, she would have jumped to the wrong collusion, assuming somehow, I had done so deliberately, when fate or God or some other higher power intervened and caused me to alter my plans to come later, when the whale appeared near the same Beach she did. How do you interpret these things, can they ever make any sense, when she once again altered her life and her living condition for reasons I still know nothing about, seeking contentment elsewhere with others than those she had resided with, these circles of life we cannot avoid, a stone into the middle of a pond

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Consumpion July 15, 2014

A forefinger rubbed along the lip of a glass makes it moan;

My fingers stained and sticky from dipping inside;

This wine makes me whine from inside out;

Finger to tongue to test this vintage

Before I lift the lip of glass to my lips to sip,

My finger on this rim seeking soft edge

Into which I ache to plunge,

Tongue first and then the rest of me

A sip, and then, alas, consumption

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Carrying on Jan 14, 2025

 

I sit at the crossroads of where I once was and am once again, the ruins of an old farm, from a time when I last came here, not far from where she sprouted wings, a caterpillar reborn as moth, her pretty wings taking her places my feet won't let me go, the did stalks of last fall’s corn, strewn along each side, full of memories, full of decay, the last gasp before winter turns to spring again, before summer, the decoration then with green, the old dairy farms turned into gas stations and Cannabis stores, celebrating the demise of our way of life, I search for the fruit and vegetable stands that have long gone the way of the dodo, no way to go back to redo what was undone, only carry on

 

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First loaf July 13, 2014

She bakes bread

Each fall

After the first frost,

Clutching the long thin

Handle of the wooden spoon

So hard her knuckles

Go red

Veins thick along each

Finger as she stirs,

Working up the batter

Into a fitful froth

Until it is too thick

To beat,

Taking it out with

Both hands,

She molds it into

A long thick loaf,

Her hands are strong hands,

Gripping it tight as she kneads

Each finger pressing deep

Into the soft dough

Until she makes it hard,

Too tough to knead,

She stuffs it into her oven,

Where the deep heat

Makes it rise,

Makes it perfect.

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Before winter’s embrace Jan 9, 2025

 

Sunlight filters through the closed windows of my overheated car as winter wages its war, the glow rippling from the rooftops, the grip of freeze on my fingers as I try to hold on to the memory of warmth, now so seemingly distant, too many years to remember when I last touched the sacred places, and last felt the cling of her lips against mine, this season the most dismal, the least sense of hope, enduring what needs to be endured, clinging to what warmed us back when we thought we would never feel warmth again, she being a different person now than she was back then, she seeming to accept something she sees as inhibitable, basking and sunlight while I still envision what she looked like, felt like, tasted like before Winters embrace

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Love never stops July 13, 2014

Love never stops,

A lost penny rolling

Between the cracks of pavement

Or over the stones and sand,

Aching always

For a place to land,

Clinging to the fingers

That last held it,

Caressed it,

The imprint of love

Lingering on all

Touched by it,

Even ever rolling

To some unforeseen crevice

It never intended to go

A constant memory

Of that one moment

When love

Like a brand new penny
still shone bright,

It remembers

It never ends

It always renews itself.

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