When People Do Depart

Years ago,

with a stamp and a leap of faith,

I would begin my wait,

until one sunny afternoon, I would see the delivery,

always hoping you might be there,

to say hello,

~

So often as the gravel chimed my feet,

I would hear your voice again,

through the words on paper,

a parchment even in your selection

would offer solace,

in knowing there was a care,

for every aspect of your return.

~

i would then smile,

imagine the next round, our continued love affair,

miles away, yet immediately bound,

by the words we awaited, we lived for, we delighted

in realizing when they returned our thoughts,

the imagery in our mind,

remained strong, and evident, and real,

again.

~

Today, is it too easy to be swooned,

by the romantic nature of our words,

by our ability to recognize truth,

by our willingness to be vulnerable,

by the sheer virtue that sometimes our words …

are all we are,

remaining,

left behind,

in the immediacy.

Letters from Home

When I was a child I had a good friend

who went to his cabin as time would lend

I remember a day when another neighbor

and I sat at our table to write him a letter.

We were barely 13 and I suggested we do this

as and act of kindness he’d remember later.

Back then when we took the time to write,

it only seemed proper and sort of just right,

to imagine that paper passing through many hands

to reach its destination having very little demands,

beyond the delivery in a private sort of manner,

saying hello from a couple of friends in the summer.

Nowadays I wonder how many people are better

without the time spent on writing that long letter.

Instead there’s a couple of keys to push to suggest,

we are putting our heart and soul into being our best

at greeting, at saying hello, at asking, how are you,

a click and the eyes are seeing words out of the blue.

I wonder if we realize the importance of our words,

when we simply throw them around in so absurd

a manner, that doesn’t allow a second thought,

just puts the notions out there – forever.

I long for a different time when I had to wait,

for the mail to arrive to see whether a mate,

had responded to my words whether they cared

or not, the physical action left me always prepared.

Today, there’s no need to ready ourselves for news,

seems we all have a hand in a quick text of the blues.

The Letter

I have this

      idea

  when words are committed

we end up obliged

           so I might

send one to you

     expressions in prose

like a stream

feeling a driving urge

to channel its path

               by pulling and slapping

water to settle soils

                         the words are my gravity

grappling with notions

tossing me towards you

lists, and pools

           conscious interpretation

and sodden soils

       attitudes prevail

You settle in

and watch my words unfold

             a warm spring evening

             moonlit serene

             taste my words

fresh and reckoning

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