-een

The darkened evening spreads against the sky
But not enough to make the little lights
Sufficient in defiance of the night's
Clouded and moonless vision. This is why
We fear the twilight, why we always fly
From day to night, abolishing dusk's rights,
Pretending not to see the eerie sights
The half-light shows. But every by-and-by
We have to venture out just as the sun
Slips out of view, before the night is here,
And feel the danger pulsing in the air;
When something neither ended nor begun
Lies heavy on the world. Then we must fear
What would would swear both is and is not there.

Type

The very tinkling of her typing keys
Reminds me of the days we were apart
When I was still uncertain we would start
To love each other; when I still would freeze
With fear that I would somehow her displease
And she would just log off. My aching heart
Could not then have endured that sudden smart
Although it could stand worse pains by degrees.
But though I am reminded of those days
I find that I no longer fear their pain;
I know that I am hers, she mine always
To my heart's solace and my joyful gain.
So as she sets the keyboard all ablaze
I sit and listen while my old fears wane.

The Same, Continued

Had I the power to express your face
In colored lines unto my satisfaction
I would not bate a minute of my pace
To bring that claim into the name of action.
I would with practiced hand lay out each line
To make you see yourself as I perceive;
And in a later age each stroke of mine
Would make those who can never see you grieve.
But I cannot paint pictures to my sight
Or even with my words sufficiently.
It must suffice me to say "if I might"
And then regret my inability.
But know when I see life in art made true
I wish that I could do the same for you.

John L. Severance Fund 1971.136

She stares at me across two thousand years
Asking perhaps if I remember her
If all the rites: the funerary tears,
The preservation, pickling in myrrh,
The artful wrapping up of what remained,
The portrait placed with care upon the sheet,
Had stopped forgetfulness. Her eyes are strained,
As if each visitor she heard repeat
The same refrain--young woman, Antonine,
Unknown--had drained a little more
Of that which made an artist now unseen
Paint her so true. Two thousand years she wore
And yet if I but spoke her name, I'd swear
She'd raise her eyes and life would still be there.

Back

When I remember all the time I spent
Trying to catch your eye or make you smile;
When I recall the distances I went
To see your face--I don't regret a mile,
Or wish to have a single second back.
For every moment that I spent on you--
Each step I took--returned tenfold to me:
In every smile there is something new
To dote on, and I could eternally.
If I had all of that to do again
I'd happily retrace my every stride
And live in hope to see you say once more
The lovely words you said to me back then
Hesitating, lovelily wide-eyed
Asking me out, proposing as before.

Draft Folder

So many drafts have hidden through the years
Deep in dark folders where I do not look.
They tell of certain insubstantial fears
That once obsessed me, but which I forsook
Or that, in some sense, may yet haunt me still;
They tell of love continued and maintained
Or of its first beginnings in my will,
Of places where I once was entertained
Or that once caught my fancy on the sly.
And when I find them, they remind me of
The person that I have been by and by,
The happiness, the longing, and the love
That made me me--and so as I revise
I look to them to finally make me wise.

Growth of Memory

Half-remembered words flit through my mind
Requiring me to think back through my past.
I let them come, and as I do I find
I wish that they would linger here, and last.
The day I saw you first I can't recall
The day that I first noticed you I do;
The day you kissed me is not gone at all
Although by now I have forgot a few.
I most of all remember wishing so
That my imagination did not lie;
That we were two who into one could grow
And spread like baobabs into the sky.
I have forgotten much, but never all
And I remember that we now stand tall.

Autofanfic

I always was a sucker for the stories
That went the way I hoped that they would go;
That opened up like shining morninglories
So perfect in their alabaster glow.
I liked to read of true loves reunited
Or recognized in those known for so long;
They always made me feel the most delighted
When I could harmonize the unheard song.
The stories that I liked sometimes meandered
Turning aside for twists, or turns, or bends
But (though some might accuse them that they pandered)
They always found their way to happy ends.
I always liked those tales. And now, with you,
I like them better, since they feel more true.

1865-

The statues once seemed reasonable: a sop
To those embittered, maybe even balm
To our hurt nation. But they didn't stop
The hatred. No, the papered-over calm
Was just convenient. We allowed their flag,
Pretended it was heritage and pride;
We named a fucking base for Braxton Bragg
Like it was no big deal--his was an equal side,
Valiant in defeat, but not a shame.
But it was always lies. We always knew.
It was just easier to play the game
For some of us. And now the debt is due
That others of us have been paying double.
Tear them all down. It is the lesser trouble.

After All

The stars are out. I thought I saw them once
On Earth: they almost twinkled through the smog.
I told my father; he called me a dunce.
The lights were Ships, the stars were dark. Agog
I stared then double-hard, and caught the gleam
Of sudden engines bursting into fire
And knew from then to now a desperate dream
Of Shipping Out. It was my heart's desire.
Our engines caught; we spun; I was amazed
Feeling the pull of gravity recede.
I thought it was a wonder all my days
Would never equal, and I had no greed
For more. But then I looked. The stars are there.
And I am struck beyond all past compare.