Sunday, March 10, 2013


Everything feels
so hard and it’s
raining outside.
Sleep is hard; I blame
hormones. But red wine
lingers, telling another story.

In my mind
I see you as you
were - on the opposite edge
of the couch,
legs stretched across
my lap and a million
miles from me.

You take my hand,
say something sweet.

But distance makes translation
difficult-the tender heart that
flourished in
morning love made hours
before buttons possibility
in a dense cell coat.

I wonder, then, about magic.

And -
if there is enough,
between us and
the million miles stretched therein,
to sustain.

If wanting is all that is required, we
are home, my love.

We are home.
Morning bursts full
and alive; we can rest in her

Tell me, again, something sweet.

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