XX

Round tables have lost

Their great appeal.

To sit and see

All around

The company that we keep.

Conversation flowing

In our circumference.

Words making their way

Around our globe.

We set sail to them

Like Magellan.

Hoping they won't fall

Off the edge of the earth.

But rather, make their way

Back around,

More enlightened

After their maiden voyage.

XIX

That familiar scent

Arrested me today.

Crisp, cool, smell of autumn

Dancing through the open window.

The smell of change,

A new season on the horizon.

There was a season for us,

Do you remember?

XVI or "Nonsensicalities"

I left my mind in a cherrywood boat.

I asked it to sail without me.

But to always write of its grand

Adventures at sea.

I watched the spark of life

Die in the glimmer of a

Fourth of July sparkler

That burned my hand.

I found my heart lying in a fallen leaf.

Beating red against the autumn orange

Trying desperately to

Get back inside.

I heard your declaration from a humming bird

Flying busily outside my window.

He told me of your conviction

And we talked for hours.

I climbed the tree of your mind

And swung from each branch.

Wondering when mine would return

From its oceanic vacation.

X

Let's run until our breath comes

Shortly and we bend and twist

As if it will help the process.

Let's fight as if we were

Great Matadors taking the life

Of the honorable and innocent bull.

Let's taste the nectar life offers

Like it were a rare wine

Left in the cellar to be found

By an unexpected pilgrim.

VII or "The Fall Line"

It will be cold soon.

I seem to have lost my coat.

The wind will bite and blister.

Have you seen it?

The leaves will fall to the cold earth.

I'm beginning to miss my coat.

Their colors: sun and dirt.

I wish I had it.

The trees will be cold.

They've lost their coats, as well.

The wind will bite and blister.

And they will wish they had them.

I stand here,

A tree myself.

Naked like my brethren.

Shivering in the night air

We mourn our loss.

VI

We speak.

Our recycled conversations

Always seeming new.

We listen.

Allowing the words

To grasp our hearts.

We breathe.

Each other's presence

And welcome its sweet intoxication.

We see.

The desperate yearning

In our eyes.

We touch.

What thoughts

Our feeble hands can grasp.

We resist.

All that is

And all that can be.

We tire.

Of this juvenile game

Leaving us unsatisfied.

We stop.

We realize.

We succumb.

V

It's not that I love you less,

On the contrary, it's that I love you more.

With each passing day,

Down each lover's Way

To unseen places

And unknown faces

Whose voices rise and fall

With each desperate mourning call

For lovers long lost.

In the eye of the rose blossom

I see my fate.

Your scent envelopes me

Yet fades too soon

As retreating stars

And fleeing moon

Make their escape

Just before the day breaks.

No, it's not that I love you less.

On the contrary, I cannot love you more.

For if love be a drink,

And to drink be a sin,

Then let me drink not once, not twice,

But three times,

And let my soul be condemned.

III

There's a feeling inside me

That is undefined.

Its face in shadow,

Its form indistinct.

Its presence felt, nonetheless.

I call to it,

Asking for a name.

Silence, the only reply.

Again, I call

Desperate and pleading.

I felt the words,

But heard them not.

"You know who I am."

Cold.

Everything in me is cold.

The words ring in my heart,

And I frantically search for their meaning.

"You know who I am."

No sound.

Just the feeling of those words.

"You know who I am."

I stand,

Staring at this presence.

Unmoving.

The dark and cold surrounding me.

"You know who I am."

Silence.

My trembling lips form the word,

And understanding floods my mind.

You are Silence.

II

Take what's lost
And put it in a box.
Set in on a shelf
And leave it for a day.

Talk not to it,

Nor look it's way,

Nor long for it back.

Remember what the wise have said,

"Out of sight, out of mind."

Take yourself and find a place,

Away from your little box.

Where one more day has turned to two,

And you miss not what you lost.

I

I lay,
Listening to the soft murmur of the rain.
Peaceful, compared to the harsh sounds of a busy household.

I lay,
Thinking of times past, lovers past,
And still the rain pours down.

I lay,
Breathing in the sounds that surround me,
Deep, refreshing; rising, falling, steadying themselves.

I lay,
The rain desists.
Thinking, listening, breathing.
They all cease.