I have danced away from fire
when sought by grief,
sometimes too late
and, my hems aflame
chanced sudden leaps
into quiet pools
for water’s healing silk,
resurfacing to breathe again
and sing my words
until the sands run out
Monthly Archives: August 2025
Walzerabend
Tonight there was, like then
a gilded room with
two grand staircases
this one on a tv screen
the swish of silk and gardenias
turning through candlelight
time waiting a beat
for their smiles to sail by
And you were gone
my dearest friend,
when I wanted us to
remind each other of
waltzing with our beaux
dark haired young blades
in decorations and tails
before you all began
to leave, one by one
and me alone to remember
for you
For Lisa Young Donely
Longing and the Ashokan Farewell
Wordless notes at parting
that have always brought tears
Gathered by a seer whose side job
is dowsing a Scottish lament
A violin strung mourning aid
and quiet picked guitar
prompted shards of loss
to call me kin
Even with young children then
and a loving life all the dogs
still alive, the Celt in me
keened for another’s loss
Yesterday it barred the way
asking to be heard again
And not wanting a scolding
from my highland ghosts
I stood aside and cried
for that younger life
Of a hand laid soft on
his shoulder as I passed by
Or his kiss on my wrist
Not willing to waste
incidental moments
Grateful for those times
and the conjures of old
hands on strings
As the world mourns
and I reach for
the comfort of my dogs
Audio: Read by the author.
Non pareil
With thanks to M.F.K. Fisher
The kitchen basket is almost empty
a single red tomato moated with sunlight
waits for my touch
Time is short, blooms of mold
will soon claim it and I don’t want to lose
this object of my tongue’s lust
Perfectly ripe, its sleek skin
hints at a tantalizing split
ignored for now
and I dismiss the temptation to ravish
without finesse, preferring
the small pleasures of anticipation
So, slices fanned onto a blue moroccan plate
dressed in a squeeze of lemon, green olive oil
and basil slivers
become lunchtime’s non pareil
Each piece a grapeshot burst against my lips
already parted in pleasure
Originally published on 1/8/2021; reposted with small edits.
Asleep
Remembrance waits in ambush
for that first sidelong glance at your face
Watching from the wall or pool of lamplight
at one end of our dark blue sofa
And you wake me in the empty black
even though I felt you as my mind dove deep to rest
Audio: Read by the author.
Upriver
I swam once in the Thames
well away from London
almost to Oxford
a country river
the currents sluggish
the summer water warm
no eels in the mud
sun baked towels to dry off with
no whitecaps or jellyfish
no chance of sharks
everything green and civilized
Used to the toe deep cold
and hot sand
of our ocean beach
I missed the goose bumps
we wore home to lunch
Audio: Read by the author.
Star Map
In summer when the moon was gone
we could walk the gravel road
down to the cottage in starlight
pupils cranked wide, sure footed
its dips and curves mapped
in our atlas of collective memory
Listening more than we spoke
to show late feeding rabbits
we meant no harm
Small pops of crunching shale
telltales of our soft passage
to great horned owls and foxes
All of us on high alert
for ambling skunks
hunting grubs in upturned moss
Not knowing then
those moonless descents
would be the safest dark
we would ever know
Audio: Read by the author.
Life With Horace 