The soft touch of velvet
the seduction of wind-blown silk.
What a smile can do
to soothe the ruffled soul.

“………………………….No one knows how
long their toehold can hold out.”
John Ashbery

Morbus has a hold of my toe
and the rest of me too.
Last Sunday I attended a lecture 
on “The Shore Birds of Tampa Bay”
in a crowded exhibit room at Lettuce Lake.
No one masks anymore.
I joke that I’ve caught the avian flu,
but it’s just some common flu that could
easily kill a man of My Age.
By Tuesday morning I have to pay
my Uber driver an extra $200 to get
me in & out of the doctor’s office, and I
know my plans to fly to Penelope’s wedding
have flown out the window.
Heartbreak & Sorrow have flown in.
When I call, Penelope tells me to get a hold
of myself, she says I can make a video
appearance at her reception tomorrow.
Thank God Dr. Hue has come home to help.

                                            from my prescribed bed
                        I hear the tones of two doves
                                                           as they fly away

a lifetime ago
I learned my first lesson in the geography of my world
from a friend who passed me a note in class:
        We are here,
        but I can’t be there
        for you
        anymore–
        I have new friends.

no matter where I’ve been
friends walk
        off the edges of my map
or jump
   or are flung
as though we’ve spun and spun on a playground carousel
            and one by one
                we let go

I don’t know where most of them land
we send memes instead of letters
        to save on the cost of friendship  
I know them by their avatars

Learning names of a new friend’s spouse or children takes me months
then one of us moves
then one of us moves on

we dust off our backsides, our hands
I mark the place where my feet struck

I drop a pin on my map

I was born early, under morning’s rays

I was born underwater
and underwater is where I stay
it’s where my body feels malleable
in the cold crisp delicious water
my joints flow through pools of water
and don’t creek, groan or burn when
I flip, turn, stretch out strong and long
my hard body moving through soft jello
I emerge refreshed, renewed and regenerated

On a mountainside in Appalachia,
The fields were pretty and green,
It was summertime on the Poor Fork,
And the reddest strawberries I’d ever seen.

I enjoyed picking strawberries
In the field above Looney Creek,
Tagging along with Grandad
Across from Pine Mountain’s rugged peaks.

We’d take the strawberries to Gran,
Whose baking was a work of art,
Everything done from scratch,
And her artistry a bit tart. 

The best taste this side of heaven,
Gran’s strawberry rhubarb pie,
The smell could linger for miles
And a taste one couldn’t deny. 

Much love went into baking
This delicious mountain treat,
With many special memories
And always something good to eat.

how I’ve come to peace
with knowing my identity
has shifted with the sand

how one girl broke my heart
and I picked up the pieces
to glue back together

how hearing “her wife” 
sends ripples of joy 
up my arms and spine

how I’ve come to want
someone and I don’t know
if they want me back

how there are so many
parts of me that she
doesn’t get to see
because she’s blinded 
by beliefs from her
upbringing

how I’m thankful 
her beliefs were not
hereditary

Sunlight arabesques
through the window
to wake the sleeping;
no alarms allowed. 

Stretch, breathe, bask.

The future will wait
while we luxuriate.

Sunday politely requests
strong chicory coffee
with a sprinkling of cinnamon
to attract abundance.

Brew, sip, savor.

The ever-patient day  
will hold itself at bay.

The birch beckons,
promising salvation,
eager to preach
a sermon on stillness.

Assemble, listen, learn.

The wisdom of the tree
takes root and grows in me.

The porch hammock
yearns for the weight
of a body to cocoon 
and rock into serenity.

Swing, repose, ruminate.

The balmy August breeze
sings a song of of ease.

Worry wanders  
through the woods
finding no path
to this door.

Rest, safe, secure.

Wasted urgency long ago fled,
here, we make no room for dread.

our first Friday night date was a high school football game in 1986

as we dated for a bit our Friday nights were pizza and a rented dvd

then we married and those Fridays nights were a movie on the big screen and dinner out

when the kids were born it was a picnic and a drive in movie on those Friday nights

then Fridays were the only night we didnt have to go to an activity so it was pizza and a disney movie

I think the Friday night dates watching our kids play in the marching band and watching a football game at the same high school we had our first date was some of my favorites

now the kids are all grown and on there own and we find ourselves still eating pizza and watching a movie on those Friday nights and its still as wonderful as it that very first Friday

Take me back to that night;