The Kiss

She leaned into me
The idea hers.
Her head held back just enough
To communicate
What she wanted
Eyes half open
Pupils wild and wide
Lips slightly parted.

My senses slowed
Until I felt
I was in
An old black and white
Silent film
The kind that revealed
Its plot and action
One flickering frame at a time.

Her tongue paused
On her lower lip
Like a small cat
On a shelf of shadowed sun.

Contact.

She continued pressing
Into me
Her tongue darting
Past my lips
Exploring
The way an adventurer might
When finding herself
In a welcomed
Yet uncertain environment.

Nevertheless…

Her eyelids fluttered
And closed.
The warmth of her nearness
Was like that rising
From hearth fires.
Her right hand
Cupped the back of my head
Gently pulling me into her
Her tongue exploring my mouth
Inviting mine into hers
As silent welcome.

Our lips softened
Silky
Becoming part of one another
Strange yet familiar.
Time stuttered and stopped
And I realized I was not breathing.

Then it ended
Slowly
So slowly.
She inched away
Eyes probing mine for response.

Words now would seem unholy.

I was
Stunned
Charmed
And it now seemed…

My turn.

You Can Never Tell

You can never tell
What happens
Behind the walls
Of a house.
The frustrations
The hopes
Fears
The sighs and groans
Of passion
Both deferred and realized.

Especially the white frame ranch
On the middle of the block.
The one with the dark haired girl
With hazel eyes
And sultry voice.
The girl I thought I knew
The one who professed
Undying love
Who told me
I was
The breath in her lungs.

You can never know
What a woman needs
Once the heat has cooled
And the shadows lengthen.
It’s impossible to know
If the last kiss
Was the last kiss
If the last I love you
Really meant
It’s time for you to go
Cowboy
But thanks for the rodeo.

You can never know
If a lady means it when she asks
What you think any children
Of your union
May look like
Or if she’s the one
You’ve been looking for
Your whole life long
Or if you mean it
When you say
Being with her
Is heaven
Come to earth.

No.
You can never tell.

The Angels of 9/11

There were angels on the ladders
And angels on the stairs
There were angels in the lobby
There were angels everywhere.

There were angels holding jumpers
And angels on the ground
There were angels with the screamers
There were angels all around.

There were angels in the fire trucks
And angels dressed in blue
There were angels in the towers
There were angels with me and you.

There were angels at the Pentagon
And angels in the planes
There were angels bearing stretchers
There were angels in our pain.

There were angels in that wide field
And angels with brave men
There were angels giving courage
There were angels at the end.

There’ll be angels in the future
And angels in the day
When the time has come for dying
To bear us all away.

Tomorrow

There is no future
In the present.
Speculation is all there is.
And speculation is powerless
To provide a wise guide
A sure footing
A sound grasp.

The first step into the unknown
Is always an act of faith and hope.

It is not that the future is a blur
Or an indistinct image.
Rather
The future exists but in our hearts
And minds.
It is what we cause it to be
By our decisions
Diligence and labor.

Tell the architect his building of tomorrow
Waits on the corner
And he will ask who supplied
The steel
The concrete
The pipes and wiring.

Tell the surgeon his patient is healed
And he will ask who
Manipulated the scalpel.

Tell the general the war is won
And he will ask the battle losses.

But tell lovers they have tomorrow
And they believe you.
Yet, the fabric of their union
Is as much in question
As the structure
The patient
The battle.

I have stepped into that dark uncertainty
And discovered there is only as much reason
To believe
As there is dedication to endure
Hardship and sacrifice
Gritty determination and resolve
To create a love worthy of timelessness.

A building is more than an address.
A patient is more than an operation.
A war is more than a battle.
And a love is more than emotion.

Today is the tomorrow of yesterday.

Night’s Cadence

The eastern seaboard
Is blushing with the first
Rays of morning
But in my bedroom
The clock keeps
Night’s cadence.

Four o’clock
And all’s well.

The house sleeps.

My granddaughter
Who fussed a moment ago
Returns to dreams she had so recently
Abandoned.
Beside me, my wife breathes deeply
Arms crossed ‘neath her breasts.
My little dogs awakened
To wonder at their master
The nocturnal scribe
Before returning to
The boarders of dreams.

Soon the wakening rays
Will race the land
Tapping the uppermost branches
Of ancient trees
The tips of church spires
And the lips of factory towers.
But for now the nation sleeps.

But not all.

Long haul drivers forge ahead.
Morning lovers tumble.
Traffic cops sip hot coffee
From paper cups.
Drug dealers ply their trash.
Trash haulers load their junk.
Gas station attendants yawn and stretch.

But not here.
Here the house sleeps.

And I will try again.
Perhaps dreams may yet return me
To lilac fields.
To rain-wet Chicago streets
Aglow by vapor light.
To the belly fire
Of snow-clad Sangre de Christos.
To arms that embraced me
And whispered devoted love.
Or perhaps I too
Will have a purpose
Possible only in four’oclock
Fantasies
That will make me laugh
By day’s glare.

But just now
It is enough
To hear my little dog snore
Content in the knowledge
Green grasses await him
When the rose of dawn
Stirs my sleeping home.

September Pond

September comes in the back door
Lazily
As if it means no harm.
The sun of early autumn
Begins its slant
Portending cool weather
Easy days.

On a September afternoon
Long ago
We lay in the grass
Near a pond
Sipping cool drinks
Eating sandwiches
And talking about all the time
We pretended to have.

By winter she was gone.

I have returned to our pond
Thinking to find some trace
Of her
Of us.
But time is an effective eraser
Rubbing away all but memory.

Many years later
When I see a pond
I remember that one.

Our pond.

How the sunlight sparkled on the water
The early cool in September’s air
The heat of her body
Beneath the light cotton dress
The taste of our kisses
And imagination of the good
Awaiting us
Just beyond the pond
And the hazy autumn clouds.

Fate is an adversary
Rending from us
What we thought in our grasp.
But love is faithful.
It never leaves
Though the object of that love
Is far away and forever gone.

I tip my brim to young lovers
Who occupy our spot in the grass
Beside the pond.

Hold one another lightly
So the inevitable parting may be
A bit less painful.

But you won’t hear me.
You will bleed
As did I
Cry
As did I .
And you, too, will return
To this lovely pond
To remember a day in early autumn
And a love that cannot fade.