This is what 
I imagine a
man feels who
has returned from 
the silent war
a quiet erosion 
caused by lapping 
not by sea
but by going 
round and round 
and round the 
same old track
waiting to find 
the finish line 

Some I don’t 
most I won’t 
there’s always a 
few and then 
there is one 
be it slacks 
sweater or beau
always a favorite 
never too worn 
out or frayed
fragile or faded 
it’s the familiar 
that only one 
reached for first 
in fear that 
there will never 
be found another 

And from afar
a wave that 
once was close 
coupled by kiss
is now an 
afterthought amidst the 
rolling waves of 
bodies moving you
faster and farther 
out to sea
onto the train
of your dreams 
and its destination 

I plant
stuck potted
all but 
green grew
hardly watered 
never knowing 
the jungle 
until at
last tossed
pitched aside
for lack
of blossoms
a chance 
found me
and moved 
me into 
a garden 
with thee
and now 
I sing
the sweet
fragrance of 
my freedom 
in bloom 

People want what 
they think is 
what they don’t 
know is what 
they often find 
life is mystery 
more than certainty 
from the ashes 
most things grow 
from the dust 
we are born 
look not then
for things that 
you cannot see
for while there
you won’t be