For Lorraine

When Do I Miss You?

I miss you in the morning scurrying
With side-long glances hurrying
Into the business of the afternoon.

I miss you in my walkabout
Tom’s half-deserted streets
Filled with the bleats
Of unanswerable questions…

I miss you in the past when you were not,
And yet you were…
And in the now for we are caught
By Time’s scythe, that dreadful knife.
I miss you tomorrow when your life
Slipped from my clasp to grasp a new mirth.

And I miss you most in the silence of my hurt…

A Teardrop

I looked for you in the weeping
Leaves trickling down last fall
But you were not there

In the laughter at Christmas
I listened for your voice
In the cadence of your children
But you were not there

To hear the passing comment
That I turned to share
With you that only you
Would catch and smile
But in your chair

Only the cushions rocked
And mocked
My hopeful stare.

When suddenly
You were there,
A teardrop
Balanced tantalizingly
On my nose, my tongue
Sticks out to catch you
But you never drop,
Poised…in full sight…
Within reach…unattainable…

I Will Write of Love

I will write of love, my love,

When thoughts have reached their tired end
And words have lost their potent sense,
I will write to fill the silence and the tense.
I will write for only love is left to send.

When all the songs and every tune
I know are sung in key and out,
I’ll find new ways I have no doubt
When words are gone I’ll script a rune.

I will write of love, my love,

At noon and in the evening chill,
For not to write of love would freeze and kill
My love, my love, so I must write though you are still.

I will write of love, my love, my love…

On Your Birthday
Why must the leaves start falling in October?
Why can’t I weep alone for just one year?
Why is it always Autumn on your birthday?
Why can’t I borrow Spring from selfish May?

But I should stop and look around me lest
I miss resplendent nature at her best
And then I’d know that that’s the reason
You were born in this great season.