Holding Together

to Lisa

from “Change,” a work in progress

Holding Together

For decades now—

I cannot imagine

waking without you.

We move together

like rivers

through the earth.

Even when lost

in tidal shifts,

we are an ocean

holding together

who we are

in the world.

We share this day,

with each small embrace.


(January 25, 2019)

the words were why I wrote when young

 

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the words were a way out

between the rigid definitions,

the expectations carved in cant

 

the words slipped along fault

line’s edges; the incongruous fissured

like water through the undefined

 

the words wore meaning there,

bare and taut, shrugging off

all social niceties for love

 

the words were love for the world:

the laughter of the sun rippling

the horizon further each day

 

words were a way to a salvation

from what I was not to become

 

(June 25, 2018)

still in love

hand-in-hand

 

in a few weeks it will be

forty years since we went out

for a banal movie and pizza—

 

forty years, college, a marriage;

three children grown,

and moved out mostly.

 

We are grandparents now.

Isaac toddles about the house

determinedly going where he goes,

as we follow behind bemused.

 

I think we worry too much

for the troubles we have. I am

aware they are there, as they are—

yet, so am I, and so are you.

 

(February 19, 2018)

Dancing With the Moon: a haiku cycle



Love’s Pervasive Light
The full moon in Arles
hung above Austin as well.
We all live one life.
He watches the moon;
she hears a whisper, and looks up!
Months of silence pass.
She watches the moon;
alone, he sees it too—
light dawns to the whole.
They watch the full moon,
lost in their separate lives:
love’s pervasive light.
Like you, I exist alone:
O, Moon! Reflection of love.
(October 28, 2015)
November Moon Haiku
a frost moon rises:
winter’s still a month away;
my bones ache with cold.
(November 26, 2015)
Dissonance
Full Cold Moon tonight—
high today seventy-eight:
my life in this world.
(December 24, 2015)
Old Moon
thin clouds streak the sky
like wolves’ articulate howls
the moon does not care
(January 26, 2016)
hunger moon
wolves moan in the woods
ice crusts across old snow
desire still lingers
(February 22, 2016)
Lenten Moon
worms rise from the dead
earth after winter’s slow thaw
crow bathes in moonlight
(March 22, 2016)
Egg Moon
the procreant surge
dances with the moon’s shadow
beneath the new grass
(April 22, 2016)
Mother Moon
night flowers suckle
the milk moon’s reflected light
we are the other
(May 21, 2016)
Four Haiku and a Tanka for a Hot Moon
Full moon at solstice,
an intersection of time,
which already fades.
*
Wine and moon drunk,
who am I to question this?
a rose is a rose.
*
Buttermilk clouds drape
the solstice moon in thin shrouds:
What am I to this?
*
We think we can know.
Language lulls us into sleep,
as if the moon cares.
*
Never a still point,
the moon dances the solstice.
Yet another space:
Doors open to us again,
for time signifies nothing.
(June 20, 2016)
Four Haiku for a Buck Moon
We come to ourselves;
patterns repeat as patterns—
You, me, each our own.
*
And then we grow up—
Almost as if we planned it:
earth’s procreant urge.
*
I’m too drunk to think
beyond the now of this page—
Who am I to doubt?
*
I desire you still,
to hear your voice in laughter—
to begin again.
(July 18, 2016)
Four Haiku for a Lost Moon
It has rained for days,
rare for a Texas August:
the moon lost in clouds.
I too have been lost—
low clouds blur the sky with rain;
no sultry red moon.
To what do I rise?
The lake black in warm moonlight?
Another year’s gone.
With patience one waits;
green corn rustles through the field.
The moon ripens too.
(August 21, 2016)
Harvest Moon: Circles and Spirals
A pervasive light
slips along our shadowed world.
We are each other.

(September 16, 2016)