My Part

The curtain is drawn
the dark descends
and ever mental wonder
is no closer to the truth

A hiss from backstage
it's time for my part
I was unaware that the others
were in place
blank stares from the supporting cast
suggest I am on my own

Pas de Mer

Julia dances in the dunes
I watch and wonder.
If I could regain my innocence
could I hear the same music.
If I could trust my imagination
could I glissade with the waves
as she does with the sea oats,
her delicate pas de mer.

Trails

The fog clings greasy gray
visibility is limited to the knowing
Those that see the water fall
and understand the river's course
Those that speak in birdsong
and sleep on moss
and chase the gnomes from the haunts
of rabbits and woodpeckers

The Bear's head swings side to side
in a reverie of the senses
There is never an easy prey
always the constant hunger
The scents laid before him
bespeak a choice of chance
except that hers is one them
and has crossed his path

9th Avenue at 52nd Street

It's just the same people
with different names
On the same errands
with different results
while the taxis blow past

Folly

The music is my past
my poetry is my present
dance avec moi Jane Avril
lift your skirt to the measure
of my pretentious pantomime
I know I'm being watched
when it should be you
but your die is cast
and mine is not yet rolled

Windows

I could not ignore you
saliently drifting into my life
there came a point
when I committed to acknowledgment
of the windows that you opened

It was your intoxicating intellect
that breached my guard
a mind that bloomed in multi-fragrance
regardless of society's imperatives
in spite of gender bias

How can I not love someone
who ask the questions that matter
who listens openly to all answers
someone willing to face all possibilities
who would remind me that regrets are a waste of time

Chimera

My actions were never without thought
but perhaps I confused my needs with yours
even though I truly felt my love was free
I must have misinterpreted its intent

Portrait

I am the the gray moments
the not quite times
the unremembered dreams
that might as well not have been

I am the penumbral whisper
devoid of delineation
a tepid drowsiness
a sucking humidity of doubt

There is no transfiguration in my future
no realization of form
only the gray moments
that frame the portrait of my obscurity

New York

Watching the human stream on 8th avenue
I understand life's need for constant motion
even in sleep our minds are not at rest
why should we pause when awake
the next step is where we need to be
but one more step and that was then

Winter Drive

I remember a drive in the dead of winter
pulling down the 16th section
my amazement at the cold
overshadowed by the indifference of the hired hands
and the reticence of the cowponies

Bunching the cattle put purpose in our movement
my mind began to thaw but I was on drag
it was a slow ride to the pens
with numb fingers on stiff reins
I did my job coaxing the stragglers

When last one through I dismounted to close the gate
I remember how my feet stung when they hit the ground

Memoir

What is it that I could write
beyond my feelings
acquaintances tell me I should write my story

My story is incomplete
and until you tell me the ending
it shall remain so

Silence

I pray for silence but fear it
a stilled voice is a life yoked to obscurity
yet I say things I wish I hadn't
I would take back half my life
but I would still be the same man
confused about my purpose

I try to love
as I want to be loved
but my desires are no one else's needs
so I love in a singular fashion
that ultimately begs the silence
that I pray for

Dance

Let me slither past the promised ones
into the hole I should never have left
darkness begets blackness
alone there is no chance
for misunderstanding

Light always invites a dance
another chance to stumble
I cannot pass a chance to dance with you
heart in throat I make my move
and pray that I be nimble