Any Time Will Do

Any Time Will Do

She wakes me at 3 a.m.
With a caress
Sprinklers anoint the eager grass
Outside our window
I’m ready before I’m fully conscious
She slides her strong thighs onto mine
It’s been a long time coming
Infant son
Ancient cat
Common colds
The life of life
Always seems to out-muscle
The life of life

Afterwards
She floats back into sleep
Her hand on my chest
My palm grazing her smooth curves
I lie with eyes closed
Not sleeping
Alive again
Singing “Desperados Under The Eaves” in my head
I don’t know why
I suppose wondrous things yearn to run together
Like numberless droplets
Seeking each other among the roots

– 3 June 2014

The Artist’s Plea

Leave me this
I ask not more:
A sacred place
In which to store
A thousand dreams,
Unbroken thread,
Unspooled and loosed
From in my head.
Dreams of stars
or wooden floors
Where cats may creep
Past darkened doors
And I awake
Sit in repose,
A bachelor in
His threadbare clothes
With one bright eye
Pressed to perceive
Some meaning in
This soft reprieve,
A blessed lull
Between the days
When judgement gnaws
And self-doubt plays
Unhindered like
A wrathful child
Who tramples on
The meek and mild:
Those subtle thoughts
That swirl and flit
Above the chair
In which I sit.
I do not think
I’ve found the spot
To shield me from
My own mind’s rot,
So all I ask
Of page and pen
Is to receive
These words again.

— 8 June 2005