Friday, September 26, 2008

1901 Limerick Lane

I dreamt we were together
In a home on Limerick Lane
A fruit bowl on the table
Of the finest porcelain.

The year was nineteen hundred one
Outside it was pouring rain
You strolled through the door whistling
Tossed your top hat, coat, and cane.

What do you do with a drunken sailor….

We were seated at once in an English pub
Laughing with each refrain
Toasting our love with mugs of ale
Made from the finest grain.

No need to light a candle
The sun through the windowpane
Shone on our smiling faces
And our world was right again.

What do you do with a drunken sailor….

Then suddenly we’re walking
Hand-in-hand down Limerick Lane
We stop by our favorite book store
Choose a book by a man named Twain.

We settle by the fire
In our home on Limerick Lane
Your head in my lap, you read to me,
As we share a glass of champagne.

What do you do with a drunken sailor….

Then in a mountain cabin
We touch without any shame
Our bodies entwine, our feet leave the floor,
Our hearts beat as one and the same.

A wolf and crickets join in
As our ecstasy we proclaim
I fall asleep upon your chest,
Upon my lips – your name.

Earl-eye in the morning.

I roll over, the pillow is empty,
Where in my dream your head had lain,
But the unlit candle and tarnished cups
On the table still remain.

Thursday, September 25, 2008

Stream of Confluence

Dry leaves scuttle across the sidewalk past
traffic and laughter unaware
of their presence,
and mine.

Water sprinkler keeps time with cricket’s
chirp, and the ca-Caw, ca-Caw
of blackbird harmonizes
with distant horns
of a marching band.

I cannot remember the color of our high school uniforms

Chapel bells echo my past, playing
the same tune every hour–the same tune
our steadfast grandfather clock sang
and doorbell rang
in my childhood.

I cannot ignore the chimes, or the scuttle
of time, but I can refuse
to answer the door.