Snow on the ground
sun in the air
birds crowd the feeder
in noisy chaos.
This is the birthday of
a former lover now gone
from my life, tomorrow
of an old friend now gone
from this world.
Two names on a calendar
of birthdays that elicit
only memories now.
People wander in and away
I continue to feed the birds
the sun continues to shine
or hide, snow falls then stops
years roll along piling up in drifts
behind me leaving me
wondering whose name
will mean what on that calendar
this time next year?
Voluptuous moon
Marilyn Monroe of moons
stole my heart last night.
A heart is to open
a hand too
and two arms
a dusty book
a closed door
a locked box
a suitcase with pockets
curtains at the window
a gift with a bow
a box of crayons
a packet of tea
your two eyes
the corner shop
a cookie jar
two arms
a hand too
and a heart.
If you love a thing love it madly.
Love it like a dog loves his toy.
Carry it in and out the door
bring it to the rug and rest your
head upon it while you nap
snatch it from the jaws of others
shake and toss it give it
a thrill ride now and then
continue to want and love it
long after its ears arms legs
have fallen off long after
you’ve pulled out its squeaker
and all of its stuffing even
when it is nothing more
than a rag, love it.
Love it love it love it.
And then love it more.
It seems a tender little bit of something
to begin a new year on a Sunday
the first day of any week
in any month of any old year
a small symmetry that might
bode well as I like to think
plus my two dogs lie here lovingly
however uncharacteristically
legs over legs entwined suggesting
if I care to read it so (& let me say
right here that I do)
a quantity of forbearance
if not love not to mention that this day
is as sunlit and radiant as any
spring or summer day suggesting
grace and light to come
and in addition the wind does blow
something fierce meaning
(of course) that
ships’ sails will fill and billow
truths will be declared
angels sing in full chorus
as God whispers
recondite secrets to the trees.
Ah yes. This wind that sun
those dogs this Sunday
all signs point
to an extraordinary year.
A year ends another begins
and I am reluctant a bit sad
to see this one go loving odd
numbers as I do and in addition
eleven seeming a magical number
a prime and hinting at infinity.
Twelve, a dozen, I suppose has
merit insofar as being sturdy
ordered common a dozen of
these two dozen of those please
half a dozen of that will do
six of one half a dozen of the other
the clock strikes twelve
noon twelve midnight
twelve apostles twelve months
in a year both this one and the next
oh I’ll learn to love it for itself
Im sure, its reliable balanced
sturdy well-ordered protean self.