Love

Love is a great bird,
soaring high on wings named
"he" and "she."
But this bird cannot soar as high
as the bird whose wings are called
"not I" and "not thou."

Apology

Sentences and paragraphs
we know most often to serve the purely utilitarian.
But when we see the poet's lines,
flush left, supplicants lined up in prayer,
we know we must seek higher ground,
and ready ourselves for the visits
of beauty, and truth, and love.

December 31

I sit crosslegged by your grave.
The sun warms my back,
a little breeze chills my face.
Its the last day of the year,
but it feels like early spring.
Ah Beloved, you left too soon.

Promises Kept

Tucked into a picture frame
that still hangs above our bed
(a watercolor from our daughter)
is a note I left on Edna's pillow,
early on in her last illness.
"Dear Edna" it exhorts,
"Let's grow old together."
And below she had answered
"Yes, let's!"
And we did.
But she grew old too soon and died
while I grew old and live
to wonder why.

Up before dawn

Before the bathroom mirror
I find brief repose,
and these words appear unbidden.
I note the stubble on my face
- though is scarcely compares
to the dark, latin growth
I see on my sons -
it's as if, last night, I had lain down in the forest,
and sometime before dawn
a light dusting of dew
had frozen on my face.

Some days I believe in these words,
some days I don't.
I only know to gather them quickly
before they are beaten incomprehensible,
or buried, or erased,
by the events of the day.

Grief comes sometimes

Grief comes sometimes as an eagle, fierce of eye,
captive in a cage too small.
And inside, I can feel those great wings,
beating against my ribs.

Or sometimes as a turtledove,
held within my heart,
whose fluttering wings
shake my very soul.

Beloved, when I think of you,
grief comes sometimes as a bird
and I wonder where I have left the key
that will set this captive free.