The leaf lay there,
having completed its first purpose.

Now, with green colors receding,
it gives a final performance. The stage its own,
 

showcasing a myriad of unexpected hues,
highlighted by droplets of water.

The language of color
telling a story for anyone to see.

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There's a winged bug in my lukewarm coffee.

I'm not sure how it ended up here. Maybe I was careless,

but I feel no animosity toward it.

I don't know how to save a caffeine-buzzed, drowning insect,

but the important thing is that I'm going to try.

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I asked her to dance
even though I barely knew how.

It was a garden party.
I worried I'd look the fool.

The stars blinked some,
but didn't laugh,
and neither did she.

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The begonia bursts into view

through our picture window.

Its crimson summer offering

there for me to receive.

With no intention of allowing it to go unnoticed,

I accept the simple gift.

Its seeming purpose rendered in full.

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I endured loss

because memories wanted to live.

I endured memories

because love insists.

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Thinking about you back then,
leaving always seemed a possibility.
My comfort being alone frightened you the most.

You couldn’t tame the devils you imagined.
Staying together was always what you wanted to talk about
but, at the time, I knew I'd be alright

on the other side of with you.

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We check the new fountain

purchased today. A solar powered one,

making sure it’s not misbehaving.

The late afternoon sun is waning

and the fountain is struggling

to keep the water spouting.

A grey tufted, winged traveler

doesn’t seem to mind the issue,

while splashing about in appreciation

for the aquatic addition to its surroundings.

Now, if we can j...

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She asked me what size belt Orion wore

up there among the stars.

I wasn’t certain,

but three stars seemed about right.

But their light is old

so, he may have put on some weight.

We laughed at that

as we sat on our porch,

looking up again

at the ancient light's travels.

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It wasn't good enough to be angry.
She'd probably tell you

it was the wrong time to be with me.
Neither of us would have argued with any of that.

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You can hear the quiet across the water

when the Cliff Swallows leave their homes,

carefully built under sturdy wooden eaves of buildings

brushed by the mute witness of a saline breeze.

Their passerine young now away,

anxious, and off to chase tomorrow.

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Left Wing, Right Wing.
Either way you look at it,

like flightless birds,
they blame the wings.

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In my dream I see the wind
blowing away the sand.

Loss, like the sand and wind
working together, fills my thoughts.

But the waves always
bring the sands back, in time.

So, I still look for you,
out amid the breakers.
 

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We didn't want him to return

to the cerulean waves alone,

so we left his ashes there,

mixed with a few shells we found

along the misty strand.

A feather marking the honored place

where they were to await

the welcoming sea.

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Rushing downhill on Sepulveda, 
ignoring the posted speed limit,
like all of the others, in our hurry.

The cars going in the opposite direction uphill, 
finished, it seemed, being pressed for time
on their way back to calm.

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In the waves, she swayed in time
with their insistence.
It was easy to understand.

But we had no idea then
about the persistence of time.

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I ask her to hand me the small vial

containing some of his ashes.

I gently place it on the table between us.

Our dogs, always curious, wet noses all about,

sniff at the small item just placed there,

but leave it unmolested, as if they know.

“I was thinking he might enjoy another sunset with us.”

“He’s at peace now don’t you think?”, she suggests.

"I do, ...

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When we fight

we both fall silent.

When the quiet gets too loud

we forgive without words.

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"I wish you wouldn't eat the spiders Mr. House Wren. Plenty of pesky flies and other crawlies about."

"Okay, okay, but the spiders have eight legs. Seems plenty for all.", his complaint.

"You're seeing it wrong, silly bird. They have none to spare, really."

"Fair enough, I'll be on my way then."

"Thank you. But before you go, there's a couple of flies that have been pestering me. Pleas...

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I asked him if he still loved her.

She had lied to him many times,

but he said he was through now.

His look was one of anger

so, I knew to move on.

His heart, rendered severe,

informed the advice I offered.

Having been there myself,

I could only say it will pass,

and would he like a beer.

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Even her heartbeat is lovely.

Keeping time with my contentment.

It doesn't assert, or insist.

But it holds me here, in between,

waiting for the next beat.

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I think about sunlight

and its eight-minute journey.

What was I doing when it began

those few minutes ago?

It probably wasn't important.

Like living in the past,

I shouldn't stay there.

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Hitchhiking home with my best friend

in the late seventies, I think it was.

Armed with the assumption of immortality

that often accompanies youth,

we ignored the possibilities of danger.

In retrospect, behind our painted smiles,

there seemed to be a hint of desperation

as we stood on the shoulder of the passage.

I recall looking at the highway signs.

None ...

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Sorting through boxes of color slides
ablaze in dazzling tones.

Like the hues contained within the images,
soon enough I'll be just a breeze
 

locked in a still life shown in the tiny squares.
A ghost in time captured in Kodachrome.

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You have to push your heart aside.

Out of the way, elbow and shoulder,

no matter love’s protests,

though they are not unheard.

Necessity needs to see beyond what love fears most,

the loss and damage of absence.

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I cannot remember the last words

I’ve had with people I’ll never see again

(probably best in a few cases, I’m afraid).

Thinking back on this, I wish I had noted some of them

in a treasured journal I’ve often thought about.

At present, I can never know when these words will happen.

So, attempting to write them down would be absurd.

But even if I could, I would hope th...

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I cannot tell if it’s a longing memory,

or I’m imagining a new conversation we’re having.

I’ll wait patiently for the words to come.

We’ve plenty of time here

in the blurred-line realms of missing you.

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I came to realize that maybe
this lack of embarrassment
wasn't some kind of boast for him,
or an unwillingness to talk about it.

It seemed more like a kind of bravery.
He was never afraid to be different,
or make people laugh, whatever it took.

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I've seen what seemed to be the light,

but it was often a train coming.

Some have offered to lift me up

when what may have been best

was to just sit for a while.

Sometimes cliches say it best.

Especially the one about roses.

You and I felt all the thorns

every step of the way.

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Billy Collins wrote about how long a snowflake takes
to fall to the ground. Two hours, I think it was.
All we get here is rain racing to the surface, by comparison.

I wondered if either were jealous of the other's journey.
Did the rain miss anything in its rush, or was the snowflake,
meandering along as it will, guilty of same?

All I know for certain is the wind,
which I generally have ...

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“I can’t sleep tonight.”, she wakes me too.

“What are you worrying about?”

“I keep thinking about Tony

and why he left us like that.”

“I don’t know. It’s not like the world didn’t need him.

People can’t see things for what they are, sometimes.”

“But we saw him for that.”

“Maybe the best we can do now

is see what he could not.”

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The revolving cake stand was almost empty.

It had a long day. The apple pie being the most popular.

Three regulars having a very early breakfast

at the worn counter, eying the last piece of pie

for the road, as I've seen them do before.

I hoped for the best as they sorted 

the math of desire between them.

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In the darkness
I can see our stars.
A rose, for one.

You, for another.
Imagine the crowded sky at night.
You are not alone.

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In my dream I pawned her gold and diamond earrings
without her knowing. Maybe I needed the money
for something in the next chapter of my dreaming,
or maybe it was the spicy Indian cuisine.

I called from my car to confess my guilt to her,
but I could feel her smile over the airwaves.
Although she did tell me later, with a mischievous wink,
she checked to make sure the earrings were still t...

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My stepsister shared her joint with us

on a resplendent summer afternoon in my youth.

Mostly I remember us spending hours

making up nonsensical words we felt should exist,

trying to give them definitions,

wondering who decided 33-1/3 RPMs was a thing,

and wishing we had more wine to smoke.

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Her eyes, without fail,

always hinted at mornings,

around 10am, with French toast

on a tray ready to be enjoyed.

It took some time,

but I was fortunate to find someone

who’s look could cook like that.

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Her eyes, without fail,

always hinted at mornings,

around 10am, with French toast

on a tray ready to be enjoyed.

It took some time,

but I was fortunate to find someone

who’s look could cook like that.

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It was 3 a.m., but the orders were piling up

on the chrome-plated spinning rack.

One customer sent their plate back.

"Wants more peas.",

Moon, the waitress said.

I didn't get angry.

I felt there was a kind of sadness

within the request.

I don't particularly like peas,

but everyone got plenty of them after that.

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The sun, brilliant on the trail today,
throws shadows here and there.

Free from the tyranny of clouds,
the silhouettes cannot hide their delight.

My thoughts add an asterisk to their unrestrained dance.
A bookmark to revisit this performance, offered for free.

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I couldn't find a solitary word

for someone who makes me happy

by doing nothing in particular.

So, I'll say your name.

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I was thinking about flames.

How they don't mind sharing their warmth.

And how you used them

to show me they can burn.

Maybe we should have just begun

with rays from the sun.

Plenty of heat for us both.

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I drove along the Coast highway today.
There, broken clouds were unable to hold
against a persistent sun.

The waves, turbulent like my thoughts,
leaving receding foam to chase
after what they are unlikely to catch.

Like the foam, I realized
I would simply have to meet the next wave
where it collides with its destination.

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My dog is running in his sleep.
He makes muffled noises,
chasing after who knows what.

He seems to be having fun.
Do dogs have nightmares?

His eyes twitching quicker now,
he must be very close
to running down his dream.
I hope he sees me there with him.

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We were watching ice skating on television,
and, suddenly, I was desperately missing my mother.
I couldn’t exactly connect the reason why in the moment.
The capriciousness of sadness, I assumed.

She was not into ice skating, as far as I know.
But maybe she could have learned to appreciate it,
and we would have watched it together, had we more time.
The thought welcome, I thanked her for t...

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I settle back in my chair
and feel the waltz of a Spring breeze.
I contemplate it's travels

simply to pass through here,
perhaps headed somewhere
it may be urgently needed as it waves
to the shore of my thoughts.

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My compass is getting pretty old now.

Sometimes I tap on the glass

to make sure of the reading.

The needle doesn’t get bothered

by how often I do this.

The bargain seems to be

even if I ask redundant questions

it will keep suggesting true north.

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The cloud formations come to me free spirited.

They speak without sound. Somedays they sing

all over the canvas of the western sky.

Even though I cannot hear their voices,

I am lifted because these spectacular cumulus

don’t seem to mind sharing space with blue sky.

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I envy our dogs faces

as they crunch their noisy treats.

Chewing with open mouths,

seemingly as loudly as they can.

Their joy is not possible to overlook.

Even before they have finished,

they secretly hope for another.

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I hope you stay 

the road between

where I've been 

and my way back home.

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I scarcely notice the rain pelting my coffee cup.

Or the small House Wrens near a pile of cut branches,

flitting about joyously, welcoming the light shower.

They remind me I need to get that cleaned up sometime,

but I’m hesitant to disturb their preferred habitat

so, I’ll leave them to enjoy their capering.

My reverie does notice the hush of absence

while I wait fo...

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Walking along the trail, the trees teach me

about having no particular place to be.

A peaceful disposition to have, I thought.

“We’re not going anywhere.”, they seemed to say.

“But we have many things to do

today in a grateful forest.”

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