I must confess, I’ve never felt moved
to shout this love from the rooftops.
To demand the world take notice.
To let it reverberate in the ether.

Your love grows on my being
like a moss in the wood.
Quietly, do I stay my root
so as to know you more.

Role Models

Some of us are hoping to recreate
whatever it was that made us believe
our parents were meant to be.

Others of us have only learned
to recognize the warning signs
of conflicts which drove them apart.

Both are burdened by perspective –
one with great expectation,
the other with cynicism.

A Curious Nostalgia

I used to love imagining
what her smile might look like
with a few more wrinkles,
seen through eyes that didn’t bend light
quite like they used to.

And now,
strangely now,
I find myself unkempt with memories
of a future that will never come to pass.

the walls of this humble home
held so much more than just a roof.

After 40 Years

When manna refuses to fall from heaven
we may find ourselves left with no other option
but to wring it from the earth below our feet.


I’ve come to realize
that maybe I won’t ever understand
all the reasons why you did
what you did.

But I’ve also grown to realize
that maybe that’s ok.

how could i forget

we lay together, composed between foreplay and sobriety.
bodies resting peacefully against the other’s grooves.

my arms draped heavily over hers in a steady embrace,
as our legs intertwined in effortless coordination.

she pulls my fingers close,
and her lips gently caress the crook of my thumb.

we dance a still and silent, horizontal bolero.

Of Your Next Love

Of your next love, dear, I can hold no rights or demands.
But if I were to bid fate a wish; let him be a good man.

Let him give you everything that he can and is willing,
but not so much that he loses himself or grows bitter,
or so selflessly that you can’t bear the unpayable debt.

Let him not lose faith in himself when he lets you down,
nor in you on the days that try him the hardest.

Let him take pride, not in being your first love,
nor your last love, nor in being your best love,
but merely in being counted among the lucky few.

Let him stir in you the catalysts of inspiration,
and let his fires be stoked by the bellows of your soul.

Let him mind your scars from our time together,
and let him grow impatient with my role in them.
But let him also recognize and appreciate in you,
the parts he loves that others before him have left.

Let him speak with you in all manners of joy and sorrow,
and let him hold you in silence when words can do no more.

Lastly, let me find the strength and peace to not say,
“Let him be a better man to you than I ever was.”
Let me hope, simply and purely, that he be a good man.