it's simple.

it's simple.
something about that olive
green t-shirt, a day
of dirt hanging
in your hair, and the way you fry up
a pan of brussels sprouts,
keeps me thinking about you,
hours later.
even on the hard days,
it's simple.

early spring (wishful thinking)

Paper whites peak through rocks
and ragged earth, only to find unwelcoming
winter-like winds. It all ends as quickly as the thought begins.

our night in

Work sits so hard
on my pursed lips
while words still whip
from the tip
of your tongue, catching
only my corners.

It’s out of our hands now.

So let’s watch, as the heat sticks
to the dusty fan blades
spinning thick thoughts
into our unguarded walls.

Orly's 4 pound frame hugs heavy
when he sleeps, and my cradled
hand starts to tingle.
I don't want to wake him, so
just like this living room, and these deep
red shadow curtains,
I too, sit heavy.

if i stepped outside, I
would hear the birds try
to rustle up some spring

but inside, white walls and this stall
ing silence press in.
It starts sweet, like a cat nap,
until even the idea
of moving
starts to prickle.

Finally (12-30-06)

when snow falls,
finely
dusting
brick and tar and tongue the same,
even the chickadees sit quiet,
pausing
for this exhale
into winter.

10-19-06 (last winter)

when my feet felt so cold,
I tried on your slippers.
my toes tried to touch
each curve in the sole.

your house smelled like hot tea,
compost, and baking,
like books in the basement:
ink mixed with mold.

I'm sorry for trying to fit
in your slippers.
I'm sorry for trying
your warmth for my cold.

I left them behind
just how you first left them,
empty but knowing
your imprints would hold.