When nothing is
nothing ever does 
and this else
whatever it is 
fails to quell 
qualify or quench
bringing into question 
one’s very desire 
if things were
as they are 
then dreams be 

A murder of
crows call outside 
winged fog horns
cutting the density 
shadows of sound 
they dart and 
flash like the 
sought after bluegill 
in the lake 
teasing last summer 
oh such wild 
things they are 
oblivious of me 

How many more 
I now wonder 
do I have 
of good mornings 
when young many
but now I 
fear never enough 
but rest assured 
that each and 
every one left
of my mornings 
will be good 
because of you 

Day of love 
I sit alone 
me and heart
and well wishes 
we become children 
at any age 
knowing that love 
is to give 
like those silly
little valentines we
used to give 
out in school 
and very little 
more than that

I’ve lost myself 
in others being 
but a child 
looking up in
awe of them 
but now here
with no one 
else around except 
for empty chairs 
I am left
to know that 
my heroes weren’t 
heroes after all 
but just others 
doing their time