Category: Poetry

they don't hurt
until they fall,
one burning drop
sizzling on the skin,
preceding the flood
of acid rain,
marking the memory
of what was lost -

but was it ever ours?
did we have 
that firm a hold?
what do we own
outside the blink of the eye
that is our own life?

another meal
another empty chair
stares through my wine glass –
I’ve pictured you there –
surrounded by love,
alone in this beautiful world
this fresh experience
full of the exciting unknown –
a new jazz
filling my soul
somehow still empty,
alone, waiting
without you
wherever you may be
you belong here

it's after you fall 
through the ice,
as you look up toward the light
and the cold hits
that you see the cracks
in the glass surface;
you see where
you might have stepped and been safe,

but as the icy cold
pulls you further into the dark
you know you would not have 
avoided the ice -
you might have cut
a different track across
but you would not
have missed the thrill
of walking its surface
for life is meant to be lived.