spirit dancer (a poem)
it is not her that i am in love with
it is merely the idea of her
all the lace
perfect smells and smiles
the way she holds my head between her hands
and kisses me on the forehead
in her warm leotard
still breathing hard from the performance
and the grace
as she moves away from me
aches in yet a new deeper way
this ghost
mystery
woman
haunting my feeds and speeds
at warp speed
warping my mind
and expectations
of who i am
who i’d like to be
and how we would fit together nicely
if i could dance
and throw her in the air
the way she is used to
and then do something
even more amazing
that one thing
that would blur the lines
of age
righteousness
imbalance
and how our joy
multiplies our joy
when we’re thinking about each other
and even more
when we’re together
that’s what i’m thinking about, anyway
this morning
going meta in nyc
11-27-21
rainy in ny (a poem)
she wasn’t here anymore
as the sky loomed heavy
and low
cold wind buffeting around the corners
of the financial district
just blocks from the national disaster
and shame
of thousands of errors
since then
pushing into the November morning
for coffee and
something to make me feel better
to fill my empty pockets
and moments
with a smile
or kiss
even the touch of a finger
against my leg
but there is no way home
from here
there is no chance of return
to love and light
dreams of aspirational
connections
lovers past
pass by in taxis and empty buildings
i can feel them
but cannot see
beyond my own reflection
and these poor words
reaching to catch
meaning
where there is only
rain
and
an absence
11-26-21
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