We think that
Love just happens
Like a miracle
Oh no it’s
A spark between
A flint and
A rock igniting
Something completely separate
Love between two
Things is never
Theirs it occurs
Out here amongst
Other which have
Nothing to do
With it except
Bear their witness
Gee I guess
That the only
Time that you
Miss the thing
That you’re missing
Is when someone
Fills it then
And only then
Will you realize
That all the
Things that you’ve
Been looking for
Didn’t really matter
But the simple
Things that you
Did really did
Today life is
Showered in sheets
Of gray linen
From clothes lines
Snap and billow
High above me
Far off kisses
Land silently on
Perfumed paper and
Texts yearning desire
And longing ache
As this morning
Starts cool here
Missing you again
What would life
Look like if
We trusted the
Unknown instead of
Filling the known
With things now
We tend to
Anticipate tomorrow as
Though we’re attending
Our own party
Expecting requested gifts
But isn’t tomorrow
A surprise party
We can choose
To either be
Giddy with glee
Or sadly disappointed
We can celebrate
Genuine affection or
Selfishly stack our
Deck assuring satisfaction
I urge you
To live today
And trust tomorrow
Not as certainty
But as an
Unexpected surprise because
It really is
The sky is
Marbled this morning
Like a fatty
Steak or Piazza
Flooring streaked with
White showing age
Large god like
Foot prints dig
Heavily into its
Blanket of grayness
Like lumbering giants
Wobbling home from
The bar morning
Sun is only
Seen through slits
Like a lone
Lamp through blinds
I think while
Sipping black coffee
Watching steam rise
Off the pond
Like waiting locomotives
Autumn has arrived
In the south
Bringing crispness like
That very first
Very sweet crack
Of an apple
HARLAN DIDRICKSON 