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The in between

I revel in the in between, the moments
that cling to my swiftly failing memory
like a sock from the dryer that refuses to unhand
my shirt — something electric to embrace
the shocking windfall overtaking me.

I feel fortune’s stroke in this,
a lamp post spotlighting those moments —
unforgettable dots on a map
they blur past scurrying to the flashier dots,
leaving the in between her to us.

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About time

We wink at infinity every time the clock
sounds its alarm, unbending as it howls
as if timelines drive forward between
well-marked lines.

Hours turn
but always circle back.

Sometimes we notice the period while
standing in it but in a lifetime shared,
these eras softly merge,

blurry in places though
the color flashes in focus like leaves in Autumntime.

And the clock shouts, begging for timeliness
while eternity ticks
its pulsing heartbeat simply
a moment in time.

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Light in the cave

Even now clouds dare to obscure
the light, hoping to extinguish the glow
that naturally bounces from your cheeks
like effervescent flecks of confidence
congealing around those lips
refusing, though shaded, to frown.

Don’t ever let me lose your light
or dissolve into absence, obfuscated
in shadows mimicking reality on
lightless caves where I’m left with
memories of brilliant visions
glistening with hope of another sun.

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Last dying kiss

We must remember as we bravely parachute
to our final landing place to make the most
of all the lasts – a last meal to energize
our breaking body, last words to inspire
those not jumping though clouds, last visits
with passing specters sharing last goodbyes.

A death bed is just one last stage, one final
curtain call before an audience left wanting
more, grasping at minutes as they dissolve
between clapping fingers. Where does
the time go? Where does anything?

Winds blow in without warning
and dissipate just as quickly. Change
can revitalize whatever breezes
haven’t swept farther down the road.

Our end is an end, one of millions every
day that taste salty on pursed lips
aching under the weight of uncertainty.

I will not waste mine. With my last
dying kiss, I’ll noiselessly thank you

for a life well played.

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Another day at the grocery store

They found forever among the Froot Loops,
halfway between Frosted Flakes
and immortality in that special place
under the lasting look of a toucan and tiger
eyeing whatever future spills
in colorful milk poured before them.

When they once again crossed carts
in the frozen aisle of Eggos
and perpetual loneliness, they let go
of forever – it now tasted stale,
iced over and bland. No amount of salt
and preservatives could save them.

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Marriage well worn

What to say of a marriage
well worn? She’ll dive into a coffee
pot this morning, swimming
into another day as hours do laps
around the clock.

Her eyes – from what I can see –
refuse to accept the daylight,
fighting a battle she’s lost before but,
ever hopeful, lashes out once more
against the sun.

I place a hand on a coffee mug and
pledge allegiance in whatever wars await
after her hair is dried and our son
once again demands we mix
water and milk.

For a few minutes, we are a couple
embracing small moments crackling
with sparks the same they have
all these years even as the clock dances
through another day.

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What passes

If this is what passes for life,
what dreams may come,
I want to wake (if what
passes before my
eyes passes before Your eyes
too) in this place again and 

again, wearing the past,  
brown to gray, 
entwined with what lies a 
head, though the mind sometimes
gets a head of me. 

The morning has brought the sun
and the road ahead is sure
to be paved with dreams where you
star,

the center of all.
Let it be sunny
(not so bright that it obscures
what is clearly yours
but)

enough so I can look at you
with squinted eyes
while my knees shake under the weight
of a world of memories
never really past.

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The dinner guest

She strolled across the table,
a gymnast eyeing the gold
candelabra, blissful in her own
disregard for our dinner plans.

I watched, awed by her grace
In Pilfering family treasures, aged
among memories and cobwebs,
heirlooms weaving their histories out loud.

My uncle twirled Wonky whiskers
in his fingers, hung up on paintings
disappearing as he watched,
considering an inheritance walking out.

I myself watched beauty leave:
the thieving foxy, moxie-breathing
burglar left nothing of value behind.
Not even my threadbare heart.

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colors

I love you as

 the night

hangs gently from your

brow, playing towards

 a twinkle,

determined to

turn your lips (

revealing the bliss

 meant for us)

gentle red.

I love you as

 the sea laps salty

on the sand,

receding

 waters smoothly

cascading

across the

vast beautiful coastline

 before ebbing

into blue.

I love you as

 a tree stretches for

the sun for

it knows nothing else

energized by the effort

before winter, after,

half of it will return

 in bloom, better (for

 the trouble),

into green

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