These walls are wet
Where I've kept
Myself entombed
Too long.
Shoulder to stone
I'll push and wiggle
Until the light is warm,
Until the dark is gone.

I step unseen
From the grotto
Where I wallowed
With my song;
The stupor echoes
Of my voice,
The only voice,
Of an aria
That went wrong.

The music's sounding
Better now,
I'm distanced from
My cave;
I'll keep moving
East for now,
For westward
Is my grave.

Before she has her floor swept
  Or her dishes done,
Any day you’ll find her
  A-sunning in the sun!

It’s long after midnight
  Her key’s in the lock,
And you never see her chimney smoke
  Till past ten o’clock!

She digs in her garden
  With a shovel and a spoon,
She weeds her lazy lettuce
  By the light of the moon.

She walks up the walk
  Like a woman in a dream,
She forgets she borrowed butter
  And pays you back cream!

Her lawn looks like a meadow,
  And if she mows the place
She leaves the clover standing
  And the Queen Anne’s lace!

Only accept what you cannot give.
Only expect what you can't receive.
Love is kind and marvelous. Believe.
You made me believe, love.
You made me. We need not
Answer why-s.

The past sorted out the stars tonight.
The same auspicious stars will arrange
The moments for tomorrow.
The same boat of time will be
Old enough for fireflies and
Crescent moons, somewhere,
On a majestic river in Bohol.

This spoon, this fork, this red
Straw on clear, perspiring glass of
Red tea, this ill-fated receipt,
The wooden tables and chairs
With uneven leg-lengths,
Those couples over there,
The lamps, the crew, the ambiance,
The long line at counter number 3,
The clock, that classic clock,
Especially, knows that--
That I love you. I love you,
Because you showed me how.*

© 2014 J.S.P.

Reach her.
Her soul is letting down
Her liquid hair.*

© 2014 J.S.P.

Pealing,
Poking,
Patrolling...
...Her...
...with eyes...

...like a busy snail.*

© 2014 J.S.P.