And it’s not so much my life I like
now but me, who I am, have become,
hard work having moved past passed
days of sleepwalking, going through
life unannounced but now I wallow
in my new song of I am here finally.

I sit, in the preamble of years, months,
days to come; fearless and afraid. He
feels like home, like earth and sky. He
feels sure like the other half of spirit
lost once in another life so long ago.

And I am tired of sitting, laying low.

I sit, looking at a blank screen thinking
about the months, days, things to wrap
up here, coming together quickly. And
I want things I cannot articulate but
I am here finally, I am ready to go.

Some lives but brief
in the evening meet
with few word save

goodbye
good luck
be well

if you need me
I'll be here.

In her fearless
qualm she turns
still as restless,
the inner beast stirs.

Been too long
since her blood
rushed for days,
those other crushes
crushing hard when
she was looking.

Now she's not.

Been too long
yet never
did it come quite
so soft in the stillness
of no intent
save the enjoyment
of laughter's sweetest
flush of cheeks pink
and the desire
to blush the other.

Quietly she
takes a breath.

Tomorrow as yet
she says she
will worry tomorrow
of what may come
and revel in the
briefness of today.

For in her past
she recalls
how frail the body
and quickness
of the soul to flee.

Through salt tears
she whispers
my god, my god,
take no more from me

for I connot stop...

giving.

she wants

An inquiry made
and she was smiling
words exchanged
and she was laughing.
She in one place
he in another
She waxed, he waned
thoughts explained
it just was
she let it be.

Went about her way
thinking that was all
then one day
her way stalled.
Tentatively
they each replied
perhaps feeling out
the other.

But then she dreamed
of the oddest things
her admittance
inarticulate and hard,
after all to utter.
Yet from him
P’raps a wry grin.

Lost and lonely

boy if only

words were worth
more than a blink of the eye,
flush of the cheeks
shallow breathes
fluids piqued
one heart torn
yearning

I want

…are words of intent
desire and aggression,

words of fire for

She wants it too.

Sometime between death and his being laid in the ground, I took a razor to my hair. I had been wearing it progressively shorter but not quite there, not quite so…shorn. My husband was aghast, afflicted with the pain of what? Selfishness perhaps?. I laid out my best gray dress and sweater of sea blue-green. I would not wear black to another funeral. I would not live my life in a lesser way.