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Night | School | Wanting | Losing | Finding | Flying | Chance | On Foot | Turns | Confidence | New York | Favorite sequence


We share the cooking, her couch, and our bungled pasts
and uncertainty (yet again) knots within me:
    It's too soon
    It's too late
    It will end badly
    It will begin badly
    Someone, somewhere, will laugh at my audacity
    She is wrong for me
    She will stop me with a wince and a pat on the arm,
        telling me I'm sweet but ...

A day and a mile later
the die waits in my hand, ready to cast,
the river running before me
A voice says
    It is our laughter that swirls between us,
        shaping possibilities into existence
    The universe scintillates not with risk
        but with boundless opportunity
I watch her smile
and I choose complexity,
my hands now on her skin and her eyes in mine

A week and four thousand miles later
there is only an empty tupperware,
one of hers sitting mismatched on my shelf
Perhaps the two of them are laughing now
It is complex indeed, and audacious,
but not having dared
would have been foolish

-- Summer 2006


She is well-traveled
with Troy leagues behind her
Having lashed herself to the mast,
she would sail by --
but for my siren song
She has withstood much
but now
with clear-eyed purpose
her fingers stretch
to loosen her own bonds

-- Fall 2006


The touch of her hand,
the sparkle of her smiling eyes,
a wildflower given without condition --
these make me want to respond in kind,
and more
Thus impelled, we spiral upward
toward heights as yet unseen

-- Fall 2006

With Apologies to Frank Drake

I disproved your existence
most of a lifetime ago --
another soul as eccentric as mine
occurs as an absurdly long product
of vanishingly small improbabilities

Nose to nose
and transparent
we defy all reason

-- Fall 2006


Younger, I had been a ghost
moving through the world but not seen by it
Our simple touch
completes my resubstantiation

-- Fall 2006


It cannot work
Driving over,
my thoughts cross back and forth, tracing
two cardboard cut-out incompatible personalities --
all over but the hard words --
my decision is simple

She leans out the window on my arrival
looking for me,
with a stray wisp of hair on her cheek
and a half-smile on her face
She knows, and does not know

It is not so easily ended

-- Summer 2007


I ran into her again last night
Months of greetings strobed suddenly through my memory
like a two-body recap of Flowers for Algernon --
someone I once barely knew,
someone for whom my passion burned,
yet again someone I know

Hi, how are you?

    I like you

        I love you

    I like you

Hi, how are you?

-- Summer 2007


Autumn is the traditional metaphor for dying --
winter is death; spring, rebirth
Not so in the desert --
it is at most a change of hue;
no dirges need play

People bring out their sweaters
as the wind blows a little sharper
Alone tonight, I was particularly aware of this

I miss you sometimes
    and yet
a woman smiled and greeted me this evening --
I looked her in the eyes and introduced myself
In that moment
all was already well

-- Fall 2007

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