Trying something new--Tell me what you think

Longing for her



spring;

sun and wind blowing through trees,

equally in union,

outside the dusted city apartment;

He didn't remember why he came

(but he was here!)

and she could ascertain he was lost, again,

and beginning to lose something else

and something else, and something else,

etc.

It was April-Spring with clearly a forcast;

Fragments of light arched

around cotton-white clouds up in the air.

He remembered something as he looked at her

looking out the apartment window:

the jury was not yet out on them.


For six years, they were young friends

aware of each others' strange-ness.


Who thought-up one another

more often than kissed.


She could tell he was lost

and that there was nothing to be done about it.


Although, she conceded,

she was the one looking out the window.

However, "that's neither here nor there," he thought

because, he decided, he loved her more than she loved him.


And he knew he was lost because he knew,

in having that look,

she could not tell what he was thinking:

he loved her.


Rain came down, and with that,

the sound of a million pins dropping silently,

and she continued to look out at the passing cars,

warm in the hope-thought that, at the moment,

he was simply thinking about her-- nothing more.

First poem in awhile

Years of Trails


After years of snow and years of rain
spring came
alight, in the afternoon,
with a soft sun.

The rivers high
turned bronze with mud and light,
and running swiftly.

Trees bloomed with leaves.

All the blank spaces filled
with light and color.

Wind-jackets were dusted off.

Cold air was warm,
and, in a breeze,
swam around sunday morning walkers.

A new freedom arrived and opened up.




Each old trail among the years of trails
is paved with mulch,
sun-dried browns and whites,
and we don't know which path to take,
(and this is a good thing)
and looking into the distance

we're unable to see where they disappear