What Will I Speak Of?

What Will I Speak Of?

How great the seasons I have been blessed with
Or how dark the night?

Of Autumn mornings -  forgiving and brisk
And tempered with yellow heat

Or how summer had fled
without a promise?

 And the  leaves how they danced off the breeze
 light - and lifting the dawn

Or how brown and brittle they had grown
And withered too?

And how the music had traced the edges of humble days
 and given them souls

or how the din now crowds the day
 heavy and crass?

And about us -

What gratitude will remain for the greatest gifts?

Will the heart for thanks linger
 or wither beneath the darkened leaves?

As cold and as broken

July 3rd

It is colder
Than it should be
On the 3rd day in July

And you are playing  - and my back is to you

Just because I have
Some other things
On my mind

I have missed - I am sure
A few great serves
And backhands

Which you have been working so hard on

You say it's o.k,
These other things
This cold July 3rd

I sit now, planning for the next act

Though it has been
a pleasure, the rarest
of  pleasures

At a glance I catch you - hot and red

You look away
Wanting for me to see you,
Only, in motion

Never searching - never  longing

You said it was o.k.
These other things
This looking away

And In the shade
It is almost  too cold
for the 3rd day in July

Back When We Were Strangers

I remember when I knew you
back when we were strangers

You came so close
I couldn't talk straight
And you smiled at that

Your warm breath filled me
when there was still clear space
 between us

I stepped forward to fill it
and back when you looked like
you couldn't breathe

Me
waiting all the while
for you to move in again

In and out
out and in
back when we were strangers.

Knowing You

I want to go back to when I wish I knew you more
Enough of this genuine, wise, companionship
I want to feel your hot breath telling me lies -
healing lies.

You stand before me now - too known.
You can't save even a little part of me -
Too known
Telling me your secrets!

No longer hushed and bashful
Why don't we just go
And get our nails done together
"Spring into Pink"

Or "Italian Love Affair Red?"
I liked you better when I believed you knew the names of colors
That I could never imagine.

The Lady on the Bench

The lady who sits on the bench is happy
She is older than you
And fatter than you
But she is happy

You would be unwise to mistake her for sad, or lonely, or even melancholy, or some fancy word that really just means not happy

You are mistaken if you think she has issues or stuff to work through or intimacy problems or avoidant personality tendencies or a drunk husband or no husband or two husbands

She just sits on the bench at the library
And- she is happy

If you cannot imagine being happy just sitting on the bench watching the ducks, and the swans and the herons - white and blue - and - every other kind of bird life - well - there is nothing that she can do about that

She was around before people started having issues
And so were the ducks, and the geese
The feathery baby ones
And the light - bouncing off the watery playground

The lady on the bench is happy

And she will be happy when the sun goes down
And rises up again.