behind closed eyes
I still your face
my hand reaches for nothing
and I feel you press a kiss
to my palm
eyes close tighter
so my hand can reach again
And feel your beating heart

I saw them today
bundled in a pile
in my kitchen somewhere.
In them,
I see two children,
bright as sun,
good as gold,
foolish as the malcontent.
The nights
we loved,
the nights
we couldn't bare to.
And despite all,
in these photos
we are happy.
I keep it this way forever.

Once I loved an Irish lad,
beauty in overwhelming purity.
More northern than I,
and loved with the strength
of one thousand mountains.
The grassy mounds
of his affection
was where I spent six months at a time.

They all called him common,
my strapping Irish boy,
but from the exclusion of wealth
comes wealth enough.
The ultimate higher love.