The Choicest Hours

If you feel that you must choose

then please: do not choose me.

I don’t think that I could live

with that fact willingly.

Don’t put a bell on the grave

of these–our memories–

let time and worms be fattened

upon its treasury.

If you should think on this, well,

the notion disabuse.

Leave it behind. Go forward

with all that you did choose.


Again with the Noise

I reckon I wouldn’t change too much in my life

even if there are armies of skeletons

rattling and raving

behind the closet door.

I could hush the noise, perhaps,

but the utter silence always kills me.

Would I be an empty shell as they are

or would a marionette

be a more apt description?

I wouldn’t change the past, I suppose,

I couldn’t if I tried

but the noise

and the lack thereof

sure beg me to.


Dancing in Utopia

Back and forth, this rocking chair

has one leg in the past,

dancing in utopia

of days that didn’t last.

One leg still remains right here

but it presents the now

which looks above and ahead

the sweat upon the brow.

Now, I can’t tell the future

but I can tell you this,

work or rocking chairs or dance–

with you it’s always bliss.


After All This Time

The lowest-flying dreams

bounce back off the atmosphere

into the vastness of space,

on course for collision

with everything in the universe.

I try to live in the moment

absent of such fanciful dreams

but I can’t help but smile

when I hold you close–

there’s stardust

in your touch.


The Point of No Return

To forget the sins of the past

is folly

all present things considered–

like where would we be?

what would we know?

who would we know?

Wouldn’t dare leave that

to chance or fate,

sun, moon, or stars.

You think that I’m a fool

but we’re both standing here now.

So now I must know:

did I forget something

or did you?


Happy Hour

The history tomorrow

is scattered moments today

carried off in a whirlwind

of future imaginations,

shaken, not stirred

into a flavored concoction

too bitter or too sweet

to drink;

the present and coming storms

and the twisting winds

of yesterday’s thoughts

bring rains to

keep the drink

full to its brim.