My life’s men

Have become like

A series of

Postcards of places

Past filed in

A box called

My heart hidden

In the basement

Of my mind

Sought only when

I’m no longer

Being an explorer

I open it

And look at

Them remembering Curitiba

Or Andes or

Denver or Paris

They each bring

With them memories

Of the mountains

Of shoulders the

Slopes of throats

The bellied pastures

And eyed lakes

Men that have

Been long ago

FavoriteStory (for Marvin)

And while perusing

The bookstore of

My life I

Happened upon an

All-too familiar story

Of sweetness newly

Discovered in a

Landscape of bleakness

Of quenching rains

Of kindness after

Parching droughted meanness

Of long-awaited holiday

Gatherings after months

Of dark loneliness

It’s a story

Where a crooked

Smile sets to

Light a string

Of otherwise dim

Bulbs you reminded

Me of this

And it’s you

That has become

Yet once again

My favorite story