It was a beautiful winter day and

I went looking for your warmth

But you ran off to the place where

You keep your secrets with your

Serpent in the tall grass and

I lost sight of your bloom

In the moss and weeds

Lick the icing off a cupcake

And all the magic fades away

It is like a love, one-sided

A useless cake that makes one think

Someone had a plan gone awry

Nature:  For Poets Old and Young

You poets gazing and gawking

You naturalistas wishing to infuse

Foot and leaf

Rise from your recline

On her bed of lilac and clover

Do you not see the shells of her exes

Under all the limbs and lakes

Has she shared her salacity

For a privileged partnership

You, you tinternist

Has she accepted your offer

To wine or walk hand in hand

I look around you and see

She does not even bestow her butterflies

You, opining over the oriel

It really would not matter

If you had another life or two

Until you see it common

Lapsed amongst her infidelity

She is just not that into you

What shall I say of her?

Shall I say she is a fine thing

This beauty cradled to a soul

Why write the words

Of ardor and affinity?

The reason is

Emotions do not enunciate

They flicker like a flame

The heart hunches, the soul senses

But the tongue does not salt the words

To see her wine dark sea

Or jaw or lip what it is like

To be in the presence of

That unspeakable sacred passion.

And so here it is…

This is the verity that lies behind the vagary

Come to repose among some prodigious prose

The poem does not show sensation or simile

And yet here on this page is

Expressed the inexpressible

Fragments of a feeling we call sublime

Where the painful awareness of separation has fallen

So it is not just words that are lying here

It is that unutterable thing that has

Fallen from heart to page

It is the task of the poem

To cause it to rise again.

January Air

It began with a conversation amongst

A beguiler

Who tempts with salsa,

And she who ate brie,

The pork schnitzel

Which is always better than the chicken,

And the one we’d rather not have speak French

Even though you do look nasally.

It was followed by

A volley of two hands becoming playmates

All but whistling for the wolf,

(his heart was howling).

She twirled the carnivore into a coil,

Sweating to be struck with calamity,

Gasp…

A sudden severance,

Gasp…

A light breeze

Into a now empty space.

A breath that hurts,

A breath

So clean

So clear

So chaste.

I am breathing January Air

In June.