in the hall, I listen as she calls out
his name

not aware I am there,
nor would she care

if I open the door without making
a sound,

I purloin a few seconds to watch her
before she sees me

when her eyes catch mine,
she looks away

the morning sun makes a sympathetic effort
to light our room

"our" room which from which I have
been excommunicated

the drapes she sewed only last summer
are never open

that is her world, staring through
baby blue curtains

which mute the half light of morning,
though not enough

not enough to blind her to the spot
where her son's crib waited

until I committed the unpardonable
sin of taking it to the cold cellar

only a fortnight after our stillborn child
was placed in the ground

small but fierce
comes to mind

three feet and a bit
of restless energy

hair so blonde and fine
it resembles spun cotton

eyes deep blue

and a mouth that moves
non-stop, with questions,
observations and affirmations

the thinness of her is that
that happens with a growth spurt

she walks trippingly, the line
between grace and gawkiness

she brings with her curiousity,
positivity and  a huge bouquet
of daisy's

my heart leaps, when she smiles
this little bit of strangeness

so used to the male child
the feminine is unfamilar

the small arms encircle me
and squeeze love into my soul

and the laughter, that tinkles
from her lips lights up the room

she is come, she is come

Maybe it's been written
somewhere in the constitution
     of the waning moon

                                         ― When somebody loves you,
                                               you can never be lonely ―

But, appearances
  to the contrary,
the moon is sometimes blue;

counting stars alone
in a sky full of stars
is just about as lonely
as 'once in a blue moon'
                              can be ―

Like when the night is yours alone
                  or feeling alone
               in a crowded room

hearing Hank Williams moan within your silence
       "I'm So Lonesome I Could Cry"

                                         ― When it's hard to say
                                               you love someone,..
                                               but it's harder to say
                                               when you don't ―

                • • •

A coyote's pleading howl
breaks the silent twilight engulfing trance
cast by the dappled moonlight;
like there's some kind of lonely madness
    swallowing him whole,..

                     as
    these two hollow eyes
                 gaze out through
                                     the chilly,
                                            sobering
                                                 refreshed
                                                   Autumn air
                                                             ­    spilling
                                                                ­  in through
                                                            the open window,

                                                        ­           counting stars ― alone
                                                           ­             in a sky full of stars

                                                       ­             the crackle of the fireplace
                                                       ­            echoes, startling the silence
                                                         ­                of a feigned warmth
                                                                ­          from the other side
                                                                ­ of an otherwise hollow room

and i feel frayed as a hole in an empty pocket with nothing left to lose

the impending dark winter nights are lonesome
            and  linger longer than before ...
  
seeing the empty space beside me
   I remember how it really really aches to just be ...

                                                            *­lonesome as a blue moon ― *

✩                   ✩                        ✩                                       ­ 
                ✩                   ✩                    ✩                           
✩          ­                                                      ✩
         ­                                                                 ­                                 ☽

moonless ― rivers ... 2017

It smells like loneliness outside.
The smell of a hot dog on a grill after a storm,
mingled with propane and cigarettes.
The smell of solitary.

A string of “cold and broken hallelujahs”
no longer dulls the senses.
It’s senseless anyway.

I eat my brown rice in front of the sink
and I am reminded of the taste of Play-Doh.
It’s funny how loneliness creeps in on the wind,
the cars’ wheels in the rain,
the braking of the bus,
scuttling of squirrels...

Maybe a hot tea or toddy
(maybe something stronger)
will keep this autumn-ness at bay.

She loved the mesh of hair over her eyes.

My hair is all messed up, she smiled
I'm enmeshed in love, she kept smiling.

The winds rushed past
piercing her with kisses.

There goes the girl
the sky parted the clouds to see
her cheeks are sunset blush.

The birds hovered low over her.

They cackled and the air rippled.

The engine in awed silence
felt her weight.

Oh she weighs so low
light with the burden of love.

Over the bridge and down the highway
she melted in the crisp autumn glow
and he would never know
behind him she rose and fell
in that only once ride
with him.

Oh beautiful Jasmines
Tell the sky that the sea doesn't
want any fish
The moon plays with the sun
My red cheeks drawing the
Eglantines leaves

یاسمن های زیبا
به آسمان بگویید
دریا دیگر ماهی نمی خواهد
ماه با خورشید بازی می کند
لپ های سرخ من
برگ های گل نسترن را نقاشی می کشد

The poetry of motion
Rotating light
Changing tides
Birds in flight, floating, diving, calling
Endless stars when the sky is right
Redsky clouds at dawn
and in the night
Cedar ridgeline
Across the bay.

The poetry of motion
Changing emotions
The waters are never silent
the poetry of motion
Allows the restless soul to rest.