Dreaming of Tuesday’s Parties

Dreaming of Tuesday’s

parties, glorious rippling

colors, all manner of

food and gaiety, strangers with

strange stories, big ridiculous hats,

cacophony of singing,

and drunkenness, lots of it

spinning, hours disappearing

under the weight of the night

and slow dancing whispers,

all versions of us

unwilling to believe in a

dawning Wednesday.

Inhale, Exhale, Snow


Soft bed of snow in a dark forest, two bodies breathe.

we feel the cold burden, the dead weight,
it presses for answers as our chests fight to rise, rise, rise …
gratefully, audibly. When it’s over, snow settles
on our eyelids with the lightest touch. We, in ancient silence,

lay breathless.

lament the loss (when rain forms a widow’s veil)

when rain falls
in the nascent glow
of a streetlight,
it seems to wear a veil,
a widow’s gown

you and i
have felt the distance
between two knees
sitting too close

it’s taken its toll

the bells of the church
agree – and inside
The Beatles lament
the loss
and turn
defiantly –

those headlights in the rain.