At home, they sit across from each other
like a pair of stone-silent gargoyles, when
he sighs to himself as if with remorse.
Looking up, she asks, out of politeness,
“Is something wrong?” He shakes his head, and says,
embarrassed that he had spoken out loud,
“Oh, Nothing, just thinking, at least nothing
important enough to say: just thinking.”
They watch each other with a quiet calm
like the still center of a raging storm;
each happy enough at home not to stir
up any conversations to avoid.
Slowly, they fall into their silences,
starkly alone with their thoughts together.
(April 18, 2019)
“some sunny day”
I hope your life is true
And you are happy as you are—
I miss you, with your explosive
Laughter, and intense sincerity
(October 12, 2017)
Her roses break into my hands;
the petals drift through my fingers
like stars. I don’t know where I’ve been,
or why she disappeared that night:
the trees danced darkly against the
darkening sky, like the troubled
edges of Van Gogh’s Starry Night.
Each moment glistens like morning
rain, the sun sliding through the drops
as we slow dance tangentially.
There are no contours to divide,
no green topographical maps
to consult. If I knew where
I was going – – I couldn’t be lost.
Instead I am here, befuddled,
as her roses tremble to earth.
(July 12, 2016)
“we crave permission openly to become out secret selves.”
with the party still raucous
if he left now no one
would notice his absence
beyond an abandoned drink
near where she was standing
earlier next to him
(February 27, 2016)