I will remember their sin no more. – Jeremiah 31:34

Rememberer, who writes with a finger
of fire on our forgetful hearts,
do not depart from us when 
we no longer look back on 
the days that are surely coming,
for we cannot see what is written there
on the hearts of others and, confused,
continue to confound remorseful
contrition with wounding indifference.

The Silent Choir

I said, "It's been a while
since people talked."

She said, "The focus on the wrath
that comes overwhelms."

Thinking aloud, I asked, "How
is one supposed to navigate
the openings to unopened letters?"

She answered, "Salutations
matter little when the world
selfies itself on vacation."

"Ha," I said, "no wonder
scripture turns into garbage."

She smiled.  "Always preaching
to the silent choir where love
already abounds in songs."

Love Poem

Washing dishes I hear the piano
     - or - is it the sound of vibrating strings,
          - or - the meeting of felt and wound steel?
From the tenderness of notes
     - it must be - 
          the slight pressing of your fingertips
on ivory.  
     - Those same fingertips -
          - curled -
          - resting -
          - on my chest - 
an hour ago before you awoke.

Petal Me

"Take your time with the one you love
while avoiding the sucking rush
of the vacuumer of souls.
For Death is the only one who waits
at the end of that vicious pull."

She said, "There you go again.
Turning a romcom into a tragedy."

I paused and said, 
"The only good thing to come out 
of constantly being disappointed 
is becoming good at assuaging 
the disappointment in others."

She said, patting the cushion, 
"Come.  Sit back down.
Here.  Next to me."

I said, "The world is full of roles 
and a role is but a gesture in time."

She said, "Some say love is like a rose.
Leave your thorns in the kitchen.
Petal me."