Selected Poems
Poet's lament
A poem is a dream of a single starry summer night in our yard.
The birds have stopped hopping and singing and all flown home.
The fire has died down and the lightning bugs have started up.
The neighbors, family and children have been phoned. The cats
at the window, grown tired of our conversation, lie down to cool.
No one is listening to any words we speak, perhaps they never will.
The wind reminds us the fire flies have stopped signaling, still.
I love you, for sitting and staying to await the approaching silence
while the final echoes sleep and sounds of our voice fade away.
The birds have stopped hopping and singing and all flown home.
The fire has died down and the lightning bugs have started up.
The neighbors, family and children have been phoned. The cats
at the window, grown tired of our conversation, lie down to cool.
No one is listening to any words we speak, perhaps they never will.
The wind reminds us the fire flies have stopped signaling, still.
I love you, for sitting and staying to await the approaching silence
while the final echoes sleep and sounds of our voice fade away.
