#185. blizzard

February 26, 2010

quiet this morning
snow quiet
almost silent


just another flake
hoping the thaw
never comes

#165. Th Woman (more)

February 6, 2010

Th woman
us as
to you
spirit fly

whatever is
to be
nurtured rose bushes
botched dish washing.

as no warning
meant here
love and lust to adjust
for us.


to hold in my arms
is to carry an entire universe
from room to room.
Avoiding the plants
and games
we go to bed.
Sip it slow.
Talk and we find out.
Dream and we find out.
Cry and we find out.

#161. Th Woman (more)

February 2, 2010

Th woman
whose heat
whose heartbeat.    as close as her
being doing something soft
the best now.


missing to.
gone to work
it out.


Th woman
has warmth
a breakfast to make strength
of toast and coffee.
a whole day


as dreamed
to find the way of workplay
the song and color

as dreamed        desire
as dream        work
as dreamt         flower
as dreamer         th woman.

On winter’s shoreline

between rocks wet
with color and the distant sound
of children sledding
on plastic bags
I smell low tide
barnacle glue.

Sit with my back to the obvious
view of sight and sound.

Eye twists
and gulls become ancient
clipper ships caught between home
harbor and an empty bi-valve
destined to become sand
on this beach.

How the colors fade with drying
how I dry with years flying.

Melancholy driftwood and the ice
down by the pond.
Tears are worth more than failures
certainly more than small victories.

The bright geometry
of a winter day is useless
without the guilt
of playing hooky from a thousand and two
lists of chores.

Step across through the day
across virgin snow fields past
the house warm chimney smoke showing
flowers are only imagination today
but how lovely they look there.

Dark green rhododendrons smell june-like in january’s thaw.

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