Wednesday, February 26, 1992

Engraved in stone,
Four letters:

I am standing on the
precipice again,
not daring quite so much,
this time.
Your cigarette is burning,
filling the room with
your presence, and forcing
tears from eyes
that promised not to
I am standing on the
precipice again,
and will I fall, again?
You ask me not to cry.

Friday, February 14, 1992


You promise me the future;
A chrysalis of silk-
Your cheek is smooth-
I long for your potential.

Tell me when the butterfly
Of steel and stone emerges;
Come back, that I may touch,
And you would know me as man,
Son of man, who saw the Son in

You promise me the future;
A chrysalis of coal-
I ache to see the end of night,
Of blackness, and see in you
The fire of a diamond.

Thursday, February 13, 1992


-Are the seagulls home?
I ask with ancient eyes. The
wind is chill, and I am old.

-Hush. They're home. The
horizon rises with his hand.
Quietly, I sigh. We kiss.

-My love, what tears are these?
Why salt upon your lips?
He holds me close.

-'Tis the wind, my love. He
whispers. I hear his heartbeat,
faintly through my failing ears.

-You love me still, though I
slip slowly from this world?
He sobs, and sunset falls like tears.

-My love, no dream or spell or
death will stop my love. The
beast is beautiful, and I am old.

Sunday, February 9, 1992

It's strange-

Sometimes we get what we need,
Never knowing that we lacked.

I visited with my grandmother.
She reminded of how simple
Life should be:

Even when life seems its most
Be happy.
What else can you do?