Last night I dreamed of you (a poem for Ivy Sullivan)

I bought you a ring
with a green and blue stone
and put it inside your hand.
Your hair,
blown tangled by sea winds,
hung golden beyond your shoulders.
We stood
one
in front of the
other
and waited for the afternoon
to catch up to where we were.
You smiled.
I smiled.
You held the ring tight
between your fingers.
I brushed golden light from your eyes.
With your other hand
you reached for my face
and let my cheek rest in your palm.
It was then
I understood
that we were becoming
something far greater
than just two people
standing
one
in front of the
other
and closed my eyes
for longer than a second.
I knew you had done the same.

You are thinking of me and I am thinking of you

I marched
inside your head
some time
after
we met at first,
and
before
I saw you again
and with hands filled
with colour
painted stripes
where
white was before
and stayed there
until I wasn't
just
a memory
of then
anymore.

What I can do

A sign for all seasons

I am tired.
The kind of tired
that makes driving dangerous
and the easiest of tasks
tedious
and
consuming
yet
I have spent hours
and minutes
and days
filling my eyes
and
ears
and hands
with proof
that this is more
than nothing
and though
it is easy to find signs
when you are looking
everywhere
at everything
I choose to believe
that a stranger
saying your name
to clarify
which letter of the alphabet
his car registration
starts with
is evidence
that I am on your mind
and that you too
are tired
of waiting.

Him

Already there is only half because
nothing is based on fact
despite the many hours
you have dedicated to days when you
and me are
no more than everything
disguised as strangers,
travelling towards a
happiness that you can't find alone-
other than when you are alone, thinking of
me.

If it was 1964 and I had more time than anything else

I would braid my hair,
tuck flowers behind my ears
and wear a carpet jumper,
sit on the ground
with my legs crossed
and my hands on my knees,
raising my voice for peace
and not brute force,
standing up only
to stand in the way
of those raging through
life leaving heavy footprints
on an earth that
buckles under the weight
of people
who have become numb
to consequence,
forgetting that
to tread lightly
is to tread kindly
and that that is
the most important
thing of all.

We are just two people

I can't say for certain
that I would have
stood
side by side
and told them
they were wrong
for dancing steps
laid out by
those who strode
through town
years before
throwing daggers,
staring
darkness
between the eyes
and smiling
widely
at days that never
belonged to them.
But I hope
more than
I hope
for anything else
that I wouldn't have
let minutes
idly go by
feeding the beast
until its belly
became swollen
with a venom
that would infect
not only it
but all
that it touched
as it flailed
and thrashed
and walloped
towards a death
that couldn't come
soon enough.

A little like long

For as long
as I don't turn over
my calender
I am still
pouring milk
and
eating Cheerios
in between
a life
when it was almost
and
a life
when it never was
at all.

I sleep
with the light on
bright
so darkness
never comes
and it is just
one
long
day
that doesn't end
and I'm no further
from almost
than
when it started.

Advice #1

When there is
uncertainty
it is best to stay
still
and wait
until
the air changes
the way it feels on your skin
and
you feel
like dancing
again.

Something there is

I will write
until I fall inside
a truth
that is far more
than for its own sake
and then
I will write
without
searching
because
it will
be there
already.