It seems an ancient time ago
I turned around like Orfeo.
In the distance there’s your blue
Premature expired tune.

Antiquity is in its place
And music’s fraught with peace again.
I’m listening in the key of gray:
Baroque, perhaps, but

Balance of a New Heart

When you are here, it changes me,
From “Z” to “A,” immediately;
When you’re away, there’s
Like distance to a galaxy.

I think of you and don’t forget
Our journeys through the alphabet.
The void that’s now from me to you:
It’s eloquent, though silent too.

The Balcony

Her spiral stairs are gold-ornate;
Her window-sills are silver plate;
Her manor-home is platinum;
Her smile is toward the ground.

Please show me something as profound
As looking up as you look down;
I marvel at your new estate
But envious, not desolate.


Wouldn’t the chapter title read
“The History of Blasphemy”
If people’s lives were in a book
In which I’m worshipper of you?

Memories of you blaspheme
As ticking clocks release their dreams
And every click in now a verse
From you to me. Am trespassing?

Blue Wind

I cannot see the flying air
But, wonderful, it strokes my hair;
I dream the sky’s portraying you
In zephyrs and in cloudless blue.

Yes, I love that windy hue,
I stare at it as children do,
And when a kiss of wind blows by
I think again of azure eyes.

Does Everybody Have a Soul?

Your eyes are how I got to know
A seed for you in heaven grows:
I saw your peace, your calm, your depth,
Your courage in your room, then death.

Does everybody have a soul?
I know they do and some are so
Momentous that they’re like the wind;
Others small, for lack of things.

The Dream

The dream is here: ‘return to me’
So on my waiting head, please preen
Some thoughts of you, which like fine hair,
Are numerous and growing there

And if a thought should be of you,
And if you have remembrance too,
Please let your fingers be our guide
And brush the little years aside.


Dreaming is a wanton snow
Of figures dropping past my face.
The storm is not a metaphor:
It’s real, and sleeping is its place.

Meeting you at night is rare
But coming, like a birth.
So as it storms, I peer away
Expectant in my search.


Drifting is a secret sin
I’m frequently indulging in:
I’m stuck on to a blue blue sea;
Lagoons are you, a raft is me.

It pleases me and makes me proud
To feel your presence all around
And even should there be a ship,
I think I’d still prefer to drift.

Favorite Soul

Your favorite in heaven glows
When thoughts of you and she unfold
At breakfast or at lunch,
Or walking on a road or beach

But she will blaze out all day long
When she sees she’s the
only one
You think of in the peace of night
Or of the day, for all your life.


Your absence surely pleases me
Since now I’ll always be as free

As hawks inside a hurricane
Or boaters on a waterfall.

So thanks again for this domain
Of perturbation, trial, gall;

I’ll shut up now and hope you see
That grumbling brings a little ease.

Good Journey

Eternity’s the table for
The supper of the cares
du jour
And rapture is the dark dessert
Of all who start to wander it.

I don’t think you will slog as hard
As many who left with you are;
I think you’ll plant your foot and wait
For chocolate.
Bon Appetit.

Half of a Moon

The changes of your mood aren’t like
The phases of Earth’s satellite:
The cause of crescent moons is known
But not of “maybe,” “yes,” or “no.”

I’d never want a moon that’s full
Or one that’s dark and tragical;
Half of a moon is clearly best
So light and dark might acquiesce.

Here You Lie

Here you lie, not in the ground,
But with your dog or on your bed
Though silent, in a thought profound,
Interred in memory instead.

This shore is not a far expanse,
Not like the one Columbus dreamed,
But near, which sail-mates always can
Explore again, so easily.