Memory

If I do not write it down

how will I know

what happened?

I have met me

And I know,

I am,

at best,

Absent minded,

Which is a kindness.

--Not the fact--

the description--

is my life

only the ink

on paper?

And,

If it is.

Is this

Failure?

 BH

The sun and blue sky

are so rare here

where the cold Pacific

meets the mountains.

Boats sail and power

across the surface

of that water

beyond this window.

The sun warms my arms

and back, as it sets

so slowly

into the trees.

On a day like this...

NO...

on this day

just as it is

I am 'afraid'--

likely a good old

Anglo-Saxon word--

but that is cowardice

I am, not

like an animal,

because I am one.

I frighten easily.

I know there is the chance

I shall not see you

I shall not hear you

Again

On the Liffey

He was there

sitting on the next

bar stool.

We talked,

as is the custom

in a pub.

He had his shopping

and I had my

travels.

Why did he

enter me

so easily?

I do not speak

of carnal

images.

We were two

people

and then not.

I am getting old

quickly--

or rather--

my body is.

My grandfather's hands

are now mine, and I recall

a mild repulsion

seeing them then.

I wish

I had overcome

that.

I do not grow flowers

that I can not eat.

I am, it seems

florally fixated.

Snowstorm

I am no longer what

I wish to be.

I wake as a young man,

but I don't find him

in the morning mirror.

I now understand

why the Queen

was upset

with Snow White.

But I would not

give her

that apple.

I would give her,

on her forehead,

an old man's kiss.

Walking

I have seen you walking

in ways no one walks

that I have ever seen

I have seen you turn

your hands

in ways I have never seen

I have seen you.

And I am newer

than I can be.

You don't forgive me

for being.

You give me: me.

Is this love?

Is this the promise

of my life?

Yes. And. No.

You give because

you are.

I am only one

you have met

in passing.

And have cured.

RESTORATION

He sat and spoke

openly, and

I was absorbed.

I forgot my years,

or--as it is called---

my age.

I forgot my flesh

which has spent years

under the sun.

I was again

the bright and shining

person I never truly knew

Because youth

cannot see

it's own beauty.

How may I thank him

for this gift?

This restoration?