Feeds:
Posts
Comments

Posts Tagged ‘love’

Perspective

 

 

I’ve got a wide, a wide river to cross.

            —“Wide River to Cross” by Julie Miller, Steven P. Miller

 

 

Perhaps when the river

we must cross is so wide

and the journey

to just to get to the river is so long

that our legs and arms are weary

before we even reach the shore,

perhaps that is when

it helps to remember

that the heart is infinite

in how much it can love,

and dang if that journey

across the river

doesn’t seem all that far

after all and the body

shudders and trembles

finds a way to take

one more step, and

one more step.

Read Full Post »

 

 

 

Standing on the stoop of your heart,

hand poised above the doorbell,

hoping you’ll open the door,

hoping you’ll keep it open.

Read Full Post »

Love Poem

after Octavio Paz

 

 

under the tired veils of leaves,

under the indifferent rocks,

under the brown needles,

that were once evergreen

under the pinecones dropped

like old conversations,

under the broken sticks,

under the matted exhaustion of grass

comes the tender new green of spring clover,

thrusting through all that was frozen.

Read Full Post »

 

 

 

Miles Davis stood behind

the new tenor sax man,

hired for the album,

who thought

he was giving his soul

to the song, but Miles

growled in his ear,

“You already said that,”

and with a back scratcher

whacked at his back.

 

Tonight I said again

the same words

I always say—

come to dinner,

time for bed,

do your homework

brush your teeth,

sweet dreams—

 

and felt that old stick

on my back, heard

the gravel in the growl,

and when I turned

out the light I went ahead

and said the same old words

again anyway, but said ’em slow—

I love you—

the syllables lingering

in the dark, breathy,

warm, kinda blue.

 

 

(with thanks to Joel Long for the story about his sax teacher)

Read Full Post »

Sole

 

 

 

Like a boot takes the shape

of the foot that wears it, I imagine

my hand might come to take the shape

of yours, your hand—something

I was made to hold, made to move with,

made to let go.

Read Full Post »

 

 

 

In the front seat,

I am talking with Ulli

about all the people we know

who are hurting.

 

They are people we love,

and there are no right words to say,

so we say the words we can—

I’m sorry. That’s hard. I hope

 

it will be okay.

We drive past a family of deer

standing on an island

in the center of the Uncompaghre River.

 

We oooh with the pleasure

of seeing them, their bodies, slight,

moving both separately and together.

Just an hour ago, we were singing

 

a whole concert of love songs, and though

not all the notes were right,

the spirit with which we sang

was no less true.

 

It was easy, in those moments

to believe in harmony,

to smile and really mean it.

I urge the car to follow the curves

 

of the river road.

There is a gate we pass

that is crooked. For years, each time

I have passed it I long to make it straight.

 

This time is no different.

I ask myself, Can you fall in love

with the world as it is,

this world in which no words

 

can make things right?

To the west, I spot a hawk

sitting in the empty branches.

I would like to slow down here

 

to watch it sit. The road curves on.

Read Full Post »

 

 

 

I imagined pearling a silk shawl of prayers generous enough to cover the whole cold world, the color of the moon.

Read Full Post »

Older Posts »

%d bloggers like this: