E+K

Of all the words I’ve written - 
The truest ones were what I said to you - with every ‘I love you’ 

All the forgotten metaphors I’d toyed with 

To build a towering story - 

Or race the streets of nowhere - 

Never reached the heights of sitting next to you. 

Trekking the days of these ‘strange’ times together - 

As the outside feels like crumbling,

and we go on blossoming. 

In the silence of my pages - we’ve been building

A living, lifelong prose. 

The gentle aperture of beauty - 

That’s all at once, like striking lightening - and

Falling snow and - 

Crashing waves and - 

Vibrant pulse. 

Some days; all to tell and share - 

Others quiet by a book. 

Driving rarely near or far - 

But racing up the stairs. 

The music plays - 

The dinner sizzles - 

The movie whispers - 

The sun and moon forever shines.

The little notes stuck on our artful memories - 

For an indoors world (of three), where adventures fill the same ‘ole rooms - 

Still I follow you anew. 

Matching heartbeats by the ocean or our bed. 

And all the world feels at peace inside of me - and you. 

How we fall asleep laughing - 

And start the days - half hiding from the morning. 

With the rightest roses and holding hands - 

We yearn for one another.

While we plan ahead - and wish for summer. 

We'll do everything together - 

Creating joy by days - 

And now - I'll never stop my loving you. 

. . .

Pages of old

In a book upstairs - lives the pages of another life. 

The sweet joys - of days along the ocean and diving in. They remind me of all the year before this plagued one - and what can startle a late season. What getting lost and (totally) renewing really was. When tired was a compliment and toast to you. 

Swear it smells of long late drives home with the windows down - reaching out to everyone   - clearing our minds from crowded bars, circles of laughs, and “turn it up!” tunes -  so we could hear heartbeats and waves, till noon tomorrow.

I’d find close whispers and busied streets of traffic and hugging friends waiting - jokes long quieted and hungers still on the horizon. Worries of what never came. I’d remember every clever kindness, stumbling funny accidents and fast plans of my people - and I’d falter at the ease. 

I’d remember better, all we’ve put on hold. Or I have. 

So it stays closed - any romanced pages - like everything else of this whole damned time. It lives a room away and almost forgotten - like you and the miles between - here and the ocean.  

It temps an opening read, a new glorious page of entries - in tired evenings from return. It might tell me to get in that car and drive back. (It definitely will). 

     To fall into sands again.

     To start the band. 

     To have a Sunday like we planned. 

In the car going nowhere - just watching the ocean move. Letting the world be elsewhere. Dreamin’ on what should’ve been - and movin’ and groovin’ to happiness. To opening up and running down the street - and finding us all again. 

You (sweet past) have become the memory of what was - the benchmark of what ended. The waiting line to start the dance, the drink I should’ve stayed for.

. . .

Last plane to Boston: oldie

That's the last time I'll board that plane - 

When you're waiting in Boston to fill the time. 

When you're drafting another elaborate fable - 

And destroying the real - of its fantasy - finally. 

Leaving me again - and last - 

reminding me why I left. 

So unravel yourself so many nights - 

in damn memories, long gone. 

You're drinking in years lost - at a pint's empty swoosh - 

and tellin' me I'm the wrecked one. 

Tellin' her everything in the world is true - and hers - 

and wandering every night just doesn't count. 

You're aching for "different" in broken habits of regret - 

and lecturing philosophy found. 

So what's that "gut" gotten you? 

Choosing settling and goodbye - every time. 

Harden whatever you desire  - 

like that city, that you cant leave. 

Live in concrete rules - and let it ring. 

Make believe in boring. 

It's always just too cold - and you don't know why. 

But me - 

I'm swimming in the sea beyond - I'm under the Salem moon -

Giving you the woman I was to keep. 

Treasure a ghost - and hold her tight. 

She's not me. 

. . .