My Heart Like Forest Fallen

A clear cut. Wounds of the earth show through.

The landscape of a human heart displays damage always.

I feel safe with you.

A field of broken tree stumps.

Dangers overwhelm.

Like fractured earth, I wait…
and hope for tenderness.

Until Winter Comes

Young I was sweet spring of April,
Snowless rain and buds of future.
Steeped in timeless trees which sheltered
The youth of my enchanted wonder.
‘Til aged I found in glorious summer,
I fed my muse and adult hungers.
Moved across the sunlit chapters
August comes, and what comes after.
Longer days from shortened nights,
shift again in later life.
And come upon the cooling autumn,
Where winds slice clean the hours of sunshine.
In the depths of gold September,
I turn my thoughts to those of shelter.
When in the cold of deepest winter,
Behold the hearth of late December.
And as I lay in earthen slumbers.
My dreams do fade, extinguished embers.

Of Sadness in a Room

Grief is a naked light bulb
hanging in an empty room.

Stark white, too bright,
it illuminates the imperfections,
though shadows still remain piled in the corners
and memories lie waiting to be stored
somewhere else less exposed.

I can find my own sorrow, even in the dark.

I just wish I didn’t have to find it alone.

Neighborhood Bars and Cat Glasses

I’ve been married a year and a half he says,
from across the table where we have met for coffee.

It’s been a long time since I’ve seen him.

Her name is Jean and her eyes are blue, like yours.

He doesn’t add the last line. I do that myself in my head.

He tells me of many things,
his life now with this woman who is his wife, who is not me.

We used to drink a lot, in the half-lit bars of my neighborhood.
We would sit in corners and spill tequila.
My favorite was lit with black light,
florescent fish covered the walls, the floor, the tables.
The bartender was young and thin and female
and wore old-fashioned cat glasses like my mother
did when she was young.

We would stumble home and make love on my
mattress on the floor.
I am with someone else now myself,
but still....

I’ve been married a year and a half he says,
and I wonder if I should be happy.

Fragile

What fragile stands of bones are we?
Burned bright in life’s pale flame
Until the final dark abyss.

What fragile stands of bones are we?
To linger on this earth but brief
And then a final gentle breath.

What fragile stands of bones are we?
Restless on the marbled floor
Before the last enchanted dance.

The chains of days are memories,
Uncoupled at the end.
Leaving links of life divine
Swinging from a living hand.