Of Us

Melody of us is
years of mornings sharp
and nights blue…
so many verses,
yet a simple refrain.
On adventures
like wind and wood.
We create inside them.



A tidy little sob
in the car
two miles from home

my eyes
busy tracking
a spiraling leaf.


Finally a gap
that couldn’t be breached
with his arms or mine-
too far apart, too far;
the touch of his hand
on my back
will never be felt,
my cheek against his
was just imagination…

it will be a civil unrest
in my chest
and I will self-medicate
to smudge rigid lines of reality,
to find a place of quiet beauty
for us,
where small dreams lie peacefully
and bloom gloriously
without malice or fear.

Stepping over

A remembered shade
of brownish-yellowish-greenish-grey
from the sidewalk
that fought mighty tree roots
and lost,
bearing its wounds proudly
only to be pounded
into submission
in my friend’s cul-de-sac.

We were nine
and we stepped over cracks

You’re looking like 9:30, he said

A feathered system
spread darkly
like conditional surrender,
a feast of summer winds
intruding upon winter.

“You don’t leave easily,” he said.
But leaving is irrelevant to me;
it’s staying despite foibles that matters.

Evenings wrapped
in such a way
to endear the listener to sing along,
albeit like a whip-poor-will
and not the sage sleeping varmint.