A Love Letter

I said, "I have decided to give my life
the title 'Extreme Experiments.'"

She said, "Funny, I don't consider
myself extreme or experimental."

I said, "But you have given me
the possibility to recognize
a grander perspective."

She smiled.  "Two people.  Peculiar
lives.  Some shared space and time
spent in each other's arms makes
all the difference."

I smiled, too.  "I had no idea this
conversation was going to turn
into a love letter."

She said, "As one brilliant mind wrote,
'We complex people cannot retreat
to blockish simplicities.'"

“For it is…here a little, there a little…” – Isaiah 28:10

God of bits and pieces,
God of the whole,
who allows the length
of time to pass unabated;
gather up the remnants
leftover from forgotten meals;
mend the fragments
fallen from our hands;
unite the untidy
workings of our minds;
for we are caught up 
in the little we have here
and in the little we have there.

Seeing each other for the first time:

An incredible encounter of tingling minds,
inspiring both to move beyond flirtatious
eye-play to a deep place of wanting to know
and to be known.

Distance and separation between events
during this time drive despair of not being
physically close away as fear of severing
any relationship dissipates.

Initiative to share the same experience rests
on the intensity of always returning together
again from being lost to the other as great
events happen during evenings.

Perfect Edge

Knifing my way around
the edge of the sqaure
pan of brownies, I say,
"Everyone wants the middle piece."

She says, "I am not a middler,"
while grabbing two inches of crisp edge.

I grab one whole side of edge,
"A perfect relationship is found
in sharing."

She smiles, "We both love the edge."

I say, "And eat the middle
if there is room."

She declares, "There is always
room in the middle between us."

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."


Cultivate a willingness to increase 
your imagination of surprise
for the possibilities 
we create in each other.
Standing in the middle 
of a dormant winter garden
the location of carefully arranged bulbs
planted over seasons and years and ages
remains unknown until the work of the sun.
We are each other’s god.  And, like god, neglected.


Fear of crossing bridges; the 
shivers set off by setting a foot 
on an object suspended in space;
man-made or natural.

A bridge moves 
one moment
to the next.

Unexpected language draws attention
to places where creativity opens up vulnerability.
Add another chair to the table of conversation
between your self and your desires.
Share the ancient triangle of ethos, logos and pathos
to avoid annihilation of the other.
The true alchemy of humans is playing with perspective
when new traditions come from unlearning old traditions.

Build bridges with words,
mindful of language 
for different audiences.

Those who cannot remember beyond birth are orphaned at birth.