writings
That Old Ache
May the memory of you to be like
An old ache in my knee that
Flares only occasionally. I will rub it fondly
And think in a blurry way about the
Days of injury before being distracted
By the laughter of children and the bright
Flowers on my counter
Brought to me by a neighbor
And the reflection of my glad face
In the bathroom mirror.
The tender crux of determination
To open what resists the most
Or stay closed like a safety box with a lost key.
Palms
Hold your palms to the sun
And allow the warmth to heal
The blisters and open sores
That come from the relentless
Clutching of what was never yours.
Old Stars Like You and Me
I will tell you this, dear friend,
When old stars like you and me die,
They do not disappear.
They become the purple borage,
The laugh of an unnamed infant,
The first drips of water down
A dry mountain face,
The attentive awe that
Soothes the loved and unloved alike.
Love Taken
The weight of my need
for your response
Is not equal
to the love taken
From the day.
