February 25, 2015


Early each morning
far down the hall,
my wife plays piano,
her fingers on the keys
hardly at all,
only she
knows the melody.
She always says
she plays just for me,
but I'm lost in silence
until the walls finally echo
her refrain,
the music flowing back slowly
over me, again,
to a time long ago,
when first
her song

February 22, 2015


I wake up
deep in the night,
feeling older
than I am.

My heart paces
its worn out cage,
finally fleeing an endless sleep,
returning to the world
I left too soon.

By the light of a drifting,
watchful moon,
it visits the dreams
of those I've known.

There in the shadows
of pale light,
it shows each one 
what I've 
been shown.

February 19, 2015

For Life

Just before sunrise
geese honk overhead,
I hear their wings moving
through the air,
their calls fill 
the darkness,

Circling all around,
they descend upon us,
wave after wave,
their long trip over
with the rising sun;
we've been waiting all season
for them to arrive.

Like us, they
mate for life,
choosing another
if they lose the first,
at a loss
when love disappears.

They somehow forget
and finally move on,
searching for another,
who will know them by sound,
and sound alone.

February 16, 2015


I've finally put
every trick I own
into an old tool box
I keep at home:
unanswered phones,
dreamless sleep,
everything I've used,
my self to keep.

Now I look full on 
into the funhouse mirror,
float all the way down
the Tunnel of Love,
stare at the fool
who swallows swords,
showing off
his breathing fire.

I want to speak only 
in the plainest of words,
never be pitied
by the screaming crowd
as just another
sad, old clown, 
hiding his smile
with a painted frown.

February 13, 2015


We are all searching,
and something's
out there, looking
for us, too; but life
is right now,
only this moment
is for sure.
Don't take forever
to find yours,
or you'll be found first
by a future
searching harder,
whose quota each day
could include you,
who waits
in the shadows
for you to forget,
even for a second,
just what it is
you're searching for.

February 10, 2015


I'm walking the deck
in a morning breeze,
memories receding,
like the birds
left behind.

If I walk far enough
I'll be back here, again,
standing by the rail,
searching faces
in vain.

The ship seems to have
a mind of its own,
heading for a shore
forever unknown;
sometimes I miss
the place we were born.

Soon no one remembers
anymore, slipping
into the rhythm
of the rolling sea.
None of the crew
ever speaks to me.

I pack and unpack
as weeks go by,
until finally we feel
the ship slowing down,
strange birds have flown
out to greet us,
someone says,
he thinks
we've arrived.