I was afraid to swim in
the dark river of tears again
wondering if the depths would
pull me back down into the
muted pain few understand
but the few were there
bobbing up and down, their
sweet colors shining above
raw, fleshy water and as we sat in fellowship
laughter pierced
even our assembled lights
until a prism reversed its
singular hope to the sky
and the rains
of love trickled gently
over our heads and back
into the great river we swam

Don't Mess with a Muse

I wish I could show you
some of my best poems
like the one about
that stream with the heavy water
rumbling rocks-I sat
in the middle, on a dry stone
shaken by the pounding
and grinding rocks but
that one stays
in Sweden, Maine

like the verses on the trains
stay on multi-colored lines
running through the city
like blood, with glances and
poetry every ten minutes…

All those lines I left.
They could not be saved.