i still have

the scars on my knees reminding me that we are not immortal,
dragging patellas under water over painted concrete,
weary sun bathers resting in shade.

orange picking in the groves about a half mile from your house,
stretching on tip toes with pulp-stained fingers
cows watching lazily in the summer field.

quiet sunday afternoons for hushed whisperings of conversation,
falling asleep under the table, dreams of moving back home--
it`s not such a bad place.

bare-footed evening lopings through the vineyard,
your hand in mind, letting go to check on the Chasselas or Gamay or Petit Rogue
running back towards the trail, flashlights in hand,
zig-zagging slices of light.

tuesdays

she loves the way you talk: with r's rolling off your cultured tongue like buttons from the shoemaker`s hands.
but he has not mind to reveal the truth in a language misinterpreted.
she loves the way you grin with your whole face, gold-capped tooth peeping out like a mischievous bambino.
but he has not eyes that can recognize a smile of such paradoxical sympathy.
she loves the way you have worked.
&now, she loves the way that you wait.
but he just shakes his head, &grips the wheel harder: racing to retreat to his home on the hill.

08-16517

"under street lamps &from behind children`s stories,
we are peering:
we love you.

past concreted streets &scraped knees,
we love you.

with burning hearts &bloodied hands,
we are screaming:
we love you.

under softest blankets &feathered comforters,
whispering:
we love you.

with dirt under our finger nails, tripping over our joy,
we are singing:
we love you.

&me, splashing in to the ocean, after abandoning my only ship,
i am panicking:
i need You!"

965

some times i wear dirty shirts &shoes, out of forgetfullness.
& why is that man still playing fetch with his doberman on the lawn?

w: "i cut my thumb! look!"
[i look. minor injury.]
a: "i think you`ll survive. do you want a band-aid?"
w: "nah. but you know what?"
a: "no, what?"
w: "i like my grandfather`s hands."
a: "what do you like about them?"
w: "i like that they`re old and cut and wrinkled. it`s because he was in the war. i hope mine look like that some day."
a: "they will."

93105

"oatmeal sticks to your ribs, you know."
i remember your words at the grocery store, &hurried breakings of fast in the office.
&now i am left to ponder:
are these really the things that have harmed you? is that why you yelp, &squirm &tease me into patting your head every now &then?
does divorce really do that to pre-teen bones?
are you afraid of being a lone in the night?
i am observing you [three] to be sure. &oh! what an interesting sort!
why are these ideas suddenly so intriguing to my mothered&fathered heart?
is this what happens when you date a psychologist?!

6499.

oh! but we don`t have time for this!

patient hope in freshly fallen snow

I am whelmed over.