a Starry Night

How often do two minds dive

deep within the sea of time

whose infinite waters share the light

a moonlit dance if you’ll take mine

hand then we can share this sea

and dive to depths eternity

a Starry Night, Saint-Remy-de

it took an ear to hear you say

I see you, feel you, knew your name

long before that faithful day.

the shores of freedom’s water

Let breath become the ocean

each inhalation I do see

the shores of freedom’s water

are washing over me,

and with each exhalation

the ocean starts to breathe

I open my eyes gently

to gaze upon the sea.

Robin Williams

Robin Williams

under the right light

had the warmest

coldest, sincere

blue eyes.

Oh, those blue

blue eyes.

Like Arctic waters

were those sad blue eyes.

Just a man who

made voices

who made miracles

who made hearts sing

who made hearts sigh

though he couldn’t see himself

without those majestic blue eyes.

So perhaps he made a choice

with all depression laid aside

to go out as himself

before disease could take his mind

before it could wash away

those blue blue eyes.

a drop of rain

The steps you take are big

where mine are small,

the steps I take are soft

while yours make imprints.

For now it seems that I am lazy

as you wipe sweat off your brow,

try to understand my empathy

for oak trees rooted to the ground,

and take heed in the soil, though I may

not make a sound, a drop of rain

breathing life, the only way I know how.

An Exhibition of Age

She examines her shoulders
her breasts, each time
she comes exposed from the
cool chlorinated water.

She’s aged but not old, tan
but not that dirty brown leather type
lifting her arms to slick back her hair,
each gesture is strategically planned
as not to exhibit the slightest idea
of wrinkles or tear of stretched skin.

It’s important for her to feel young, almost essential.
It’s as clear as the ripples of water she leaves behind
as she folds to the comfort of a faded maroon lounger, the
heat of the sun slowly dries the beads of water
which spider like tears upon her olive thighs,
and disappear into the fading afternoon.

Reason #2 for Hiking the Pacific Crest Trail

Elizabeth says I’m happier on the West Coast.
So if her observations are to be correct
I must, at least for the sake of argument
test its soil
drink its water
and observe its stars
2,668 miles from Campo to Manning Park
for 160 nights, give or take
before settling for the East Coast.

Morning musings.

In the morning
before the sun
when the birds speak
and the city wakes,
after a good night
of drink,
the cure all — water
by my bedside,
I listen
to the sweet symphony
in my guts.