Call Her

It's later afternoon and light is a fading haze. I enter the phone booth to make a call. The receiver catches my eyes. Someone has scrawled on it in marker "Call her and tell her you love her". Odd. I suppose the phone is right. Maybe I should. But how could she not already know? Have all the kisses and love not been enough? Is another reminder needed? Yes. And yes and yes and yes and yes. Fine. I'm not doing it because it told me to, I'm doing it because I am choosing to. Stupid phone. The coins begin to drop down the slot and hit with a clink. I dial the number and hear a ring. A car jumps the curb, grazes the edge of the booth and slams into the wall of the building just behind. The receiver hangs. A confused voice says, "Hello? Hello?"

Raise the dead

and realize

you're only 

raising

yourself

No Stranger

A cup of coffee first thing after waking

A dream with an estranged friend

the two of us walking

talking through an evening

rediscovering what we had set aside

The morning air leaves the branches

shivering like skeletal bodies 

What doors open at first light

How long do they remain open

Who passes through

What strangers come to you

Afterbloom

Caught in so much wonder

Beauty holds eyes captive

Seizes the mind-

enslaves it

Pupils dilate-

constrict

Memory grasps

relentlessly

Petals land 

silently

The Day After

What survives 

is always the best of us 

not tied to a body

but to who we were

what we did

what we stood for

Suspended

suspended in starry darkness

winter breathes upon the moon

we huddle around warmth

soon dreaming

of blossoming flowers

Flickering Light

 Alice is dying at home.

Her daughter is doing her best to care for her.

Alice is 93 years old.

She hasn't spoken in a few days

and hasn't been eating or drinking.

Her daughter says it's just a matter of time. 

The same is true of all of us.

The day after Christmas

of a very hard year 

is no easier than the others.

The light flickers in the bulb

and the one next to it is burnt out.

Holding on, holding on, the light

is holding on, holding on.

Gaze

Hidden histories of old conversations

sprinkled with tokens of affection

Pictures from favorite places

Smiles into lens' of unknown futures

that have become the past

more quickly than we could have known

On a night where ghosts visit

I have found mine 

looking into my eyes

Transfiguration

Printed

Erased

New meaning

Old words