Poems

You're lucky,
my mother said
in her long dying,
that you have
someone
who loves you.

So much left unsaid
            about her life.

But she was right in this:
I am.        I do.

Wake every day
to your warm
breathing.

Wonder.

 

 

White Night

pale green sky
stoops
to kiss shadowed water
flambeaux ripple
from marble piers
where the young men walk,
laughing
in midnight
without darkness ...

a young woman
trails one hand
towards the water, a-drift
in her own dream
of the mid-summer city,
doesn't see the young man
until he is standing
in front of her -

You look
like someone special,
he says,
the dream reflected
in his eyes - I am,
she replies.

 

 

Café

The woman
sips coffee
             makes it last

avoids eye contact
             writes an occasional note
             in a dog-eared book

takes in
every detail -
            wrought iron palings
            the spring sky

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