08 April, 2009


on a good day
when I get home from work
the sun has not set all the way
and light still comes in

there is some bread
in the silver breadbox
some homemade jam
and water in the kettle

the heat is working well
i can take off my wool socks
put on an old record
slow dance to my desk

on a good day
you might be in any
number of places
in the mood to talk

if not, I can still smile
I understand that too
so I find the words
you leave behind

I read them slowly
with tea and toast
listening to an old record
as the light dims

it's slow dance enough,
for a night like this

01 April, 2009


there is something more, here -
more than the other half of the bed,
than the space next to me on the sofa
at the party I feel uncomfortable at,
bigger than the frying pan
being used to make only
one portion of pancakes

the second space in the toothbrush holder,
room on the bench by the river,
just instances,
of something

heavier than the pile of records
bought with you in mind,
taller than the shelves
to hold all our poetry.

there is something more, here -
and for now, I sit with it
like these mountains
waiting out the weather

dreaming during the day,
because I never do at night