Eternal

You are every color the sun spreads

and every bit of warmth it holds.

You are the soft features of a landscape

with the light gentle on its surface.

You are, too, the sharp features that shine when all else is in shadow

and the deep valleys that cradle the sun

when the sun’s been yearning to be held all day.

In the hours between when the sun sinks and rises,

you are the hope of tomorrow’s light

and in the morning you are the promise of light’s company again.

You are eternal.

But I don’t Want to Love Anyone

The small, older man selling photographs

on a Friday night side street

laughed at us, kindly,

at the way we spoke Spanish to each other,

badly.

He spoke English

well,

taught us a few palabras- slang, mostly.

 

Later-

“Miras a la luna,” I pointed to the sky.

It looked different here, tilted.

 

“Si, es bonita,” not knowing the words for more,

though little else needed.

 

Some days, the Mexican sun made your hair a bit blonder,

the edges of your nose,

previously broken (though I never noticed before)

both sharpen and round

depending on the direction you angled.

 

At times our faces were closer than usual,

legs touching under the table without meaning to.

I wanted to kiss you,

tell you it could be so easy to love you.

 

When driving to Cancun, both of us half sleeping,

the road knocked our knees together, had our shoulders brush.

Beets

There’s something about the fall that reminds me

I loved once,

that I was loved.

 

An isometric sinking and lifting-

the chest, leaves, sun.

 

 

I remember loving you then, in this season-

(fall of 2010, ’11, ’12, ’13.

It started to get so hard in 2014,

I’m not going to pretend I didn’t love you though

then, too.

 

We just weren’t loving each other well,

in the way we needed

to feel well,

to be well.)

 

There’s a sweetness behind it – fall, love-

which can only be known by including pain.

Like the way leaves die in such beauty-

moving through so many colors before

dancing to its grave.

 

I sat down to write of beets-

the benefits of and recipes

for high school students in Home Ec. classes

(it’s not called that any more,

did you know?

Now: Family and Consumer Science).

 

And here I am, writing of you

again

in my favorite season.

The Crabapples and Redspires

Every little bud
on all the trees
are blooming today,
opening like tiny teacups
to hold the sun in,
for the trees to slowly sip.

In The Morning

The sun got to you yesterday,
your cheeks pink in the evening
when I saw you.

I wondered this morning,
when waking early,
if your cheeks were still warm,
wondering which syllables you draw long.
I hear your voice and want to make sure I’m hearing it right.

I want to listen to you speak again,
watch your lips move.

Remote With You

The way we would drink coffee at breakfast
so casually
and I’d pass you the cream
and you’d pour me more water.
The way sun would fill spaces between us
where I felt shadow should land, when waking.

Sometimes it feels good enough
to have a second breath to breathe next to,
something to hold on to.

Pretending felt good enough
for a while
with you.

Normal, With You.

Through a pane of glass
all of the leaves still left on trees
this morning
press shadows
over warm wooden floors
where the sun has hit.

Blurred edges defining shadow from empty space,
the stillness in movement,
the song in the silence of event,
warmth even as seasons change cooler-

sure- the vents, trapped sunlight. But a bit magic,
still.

The leaves progress steadily, as though forever they could,
as though the sun will never drop to stop strobing against.
There’s comfort in the normality of it,
and without pinnacle: lovely,
still.

This is how it is with you.
The sun sweeps over you
and I see how our clavicles line differently,
mine drape downwards towards the center from both shoulders
like a fallen landscape.
Yours like a shelf across your chest
as though a carpenter proudly put them there,
hung them with calculated intent
and you don’t even know how beautiful you are.

Subtle movements shift the shadows under your bones,
the angles at your joints, your lines
emphasized through different gradients of light
amongst the fabric and folds of cheap powder blue sheets.

Even the way you breathe in to me-
cause me to breathe like that again.

“Like a Pendulum,” You Said.

Someone watched us fishing,
well, you teaching me how to fish-

the counterpoise of movement,
the tension and release of line from hand-

and told me later he thought we were falling in love right then,
us standing thigh deep on the still side of current,
our skin gold and hot from the sun and touching
at times.

There’s a picture of us-
our pants weighted from the cold water
your arms bending when returning from elongation,
the muscles in your back
finding every gradient of gold to coal
as they moved in the light,

me staring at you
like I would the Grand Canyon.

Amongst Other Little Things

I saw little feet hanging at the edge of a stroller,

little black shoes in sunlight,

passing,

 

Tuesday sparrows spilling songs

from nests

above.

 

Everything suddenly was.

You wrote me once, in apology

Long shadows lean

over long streets

like a memory,

already,

like the way I loved you,

once.

 

The lake was still frozen this morning

I thought it should have thawed by now,

sun laying softly

over the hard of water

like the way I think of you,

still:

soft sun in fragile spaces.

Fermenting

By the furbelowing plants in the windowsill,

was the wine you poured for me, hardly afternoon,

growing warm with ample sun

from through the bay.

 

I wondered, while sitting

Tuesday, drinking

if some day

I’d be looking through linted pockets

to find remnants of you,

if one day the ring of wine stain

on the windowsill

would cause me to cry. 

Memories

On Sunday, mid morning

I noticed the sun from skylight

strobing

as the blades from the ceiling fan

spun below it.

 

In stepping outside

to watch the dogs run,

the drift of wind

flung old snow from the yard

and caused me to think it was snowing currently.

Later in the day it had

and I couldn’t help but think of you-

the ways we sat frozen in your car

while driving wintered city streets,

drinking to get warm,

to ease.

 

There are feelings that remain

in thoughts of you,

but after so many passed yesterdays,

most memories have grown lost.

 

What lasts

is little more than

that day in October

when we spent hours of afternoon

in wintering water,

the sun so yellow and reflective.

Yellow has never felt as good

as then.

There are other colors and roads and songs

and sceneries, too,

in distant paths that lead past

like a piece of cloth left outside

to weather,

later found tattered

and thin.

 

Like many things old,

you’ve become sweet debris

of memory

kept for yesterday’s keep-

the string

of a balloon

from a county fair

let loose from hand

and drifting gone.

 

 

 

Where the Sun is Always Smiling

There was a simple man,
he had a walking stick
and whistled through his beard,
he took off by foot
along a path so far forgotten.
He found a place where snowflakes smell the way that lilacs do
and in the spring the hills are green
and can be seen every direction you look.
Money grows from trees and pigs have wings
and the bees love to share their honey.
Walkways are made of trampolines
and roses are sweet as candy.
He never turned back down the old dirt track
where the darker past was lurking
because he found a place around the bend at the riverside
through the valley and then you stop
once you get to the top
where the sun is always smiling.

It’s a place where amethysts grow from the rocks,
the wind plays music wherever you walk.
Monkeys, too, play the mandolin
the bears play banjo with a grin.
The river is where the whiskey flows
and waterfalls are made of wine
the big oak trees never lose their leaves.
It’s around the bend at the riverside
through the valley and then you stop
once you get to the top
where the sun is always smiling.

The strawberries are big as fists
and there are gumball machines at every stream,
I assure you there are plenty.
Everyone shares their apples and pears
rides rainbow slides and takes go-kart rides
through the forests and into the sky.
You can touch the stars
and swing from the moon
act like a goon all you want,
everyone else goofs along.
There’s no such things as broken hearts,
everyone there is merry.
It’s around the bend at the riverside
through the valley and then you stop
once you get to the top
where the sun is always smiling.
Where the sun is always smiling,
the sun is always smiling.

My Wedding Vows

I promise to step softly
and vault fiercely with you
in any direction.

To hold your hand when all words are found broken.

To always learn from you-
and when we overcome mountains,
we will not collapse in exhaustion,
but stand to face the wind together.
I promise that our eyes will always fall into new light.

I promise to appreciate your efforts and intentions
and strive to show you I do.

I promise to open my heat every day
like the wind is funneling through me,
like the sun is shinning
and has never shone before.

To hold your heart
in the most gentle of hands I know how to carry.

To be forever only yours and mine.

You are a stream
stretching and bending one thousand miles
just to hold light.

You are my glove, my heart, my rock.
You are the universe that binds us.
The sun is held within you.
I promise to love you endlessly.