Posts Tagged ‘love’

One Togetherness

you and I

two banks

of the same river

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Holding Patterns




It’s not patience

that makes the cup

hold the tea, it’s

simple practicality.

Not love that makes

bowl hold ripened fruit.

But it is patience

that holds the phone

and says I miss you.

It’s love that doesn’t

hold at all.

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Imagine that your hands are an extension of your heart. Because they are.

—Clea Willow, yoga instructor



While slipping coins into the meter

I remind my hands they are doing

the work of the heart. They fumble

to find another quarter in my coin purse,

then drop it on the sidewalk

where it shines against the gray.

Isn’t that just like the heart, I think,

to bumble even the simplest of routines.

It could be so easy to search for, hold closely,

and let go at just the right time.

Come on hands, I tell them, do what

what the heart must do. Reach.

Recover. Try again.

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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.

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Standing on the stoop of your heart,

hand poised above the doorbell,

hoping you’ll open the door,

hoping you’ll keep it open.

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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.

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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)

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