So we've got a year
in which to tell this tale
Of a love that could not be
And harsh reality is more
on my trail
With every passing week

And oh my love
have you heard of little Italy?
It's in the city where I thrive
We could find humble refuge there
And keep this love alive

But somewhere in between
lies Ireland
Sown with my roots
and your dreams
And we'd let the great green swallow us so willingly

(Edie Carey)

iron & wine

(Some days, like rain on the doorstep)

lately she don't care
for a warmer breeze
or shade around the base
of the maple trees
spring was on the mountain
we climbed upon
stopped to see how high
and how far we'd gone

i said, 'love is waiting
and better days'
she smiled and placed a kiss
on my waiting face
promise what you will
something good for me
time will take it all
and it will, you'll see

...

Love is a dress that you made
long to hide your knees
love to say this to your face,
"I'll love you only"
for your days and excitement,
what will you keep for to wear?
someday drawing you different,
may I be weaved in your hair?

Love and some verses you hear
say what you can't say
love to say this in your ear,
"I'll love you that way"
from your changing contentments,
what will you choose for to share?
someday drawing you different,
may I be weaved in your hair?

Distracted. This thing comes rolling in slowly but still unexpectedly, fast-moving glacier.

30 Cents, Two Transfers, Love

Thinking hard about you
I got on the bus
and paid 30 cents car fare
and asked the driver for two transfers
before discovering
that I was
alone.

-- Richard Brautigan

27 may 2005
In honor of our conversation I've opened the Garanacha. The cork, plastic, is black -- and so is the wine, just barely tinged red. It's very good. I'll have the rest. "It's always hard, breaking up with you." Every time. The irony takes two sentences to catch up. "This isn't working, is it." Statement. No, it isn't. I love you. yes. this can't continue.

Solstice: voyeur

I watched the young couple walk into the tall grass and close
the door of summer behind them, their heads floating
on the golden tips, on waves that flock and break like starlings
changing their minds in the middle of changing their minds,
I saw their hips lay down inside those birds, inside the day
of shy midnight, they kissed like waterfalls, like stones
that have traveled a million years to touch, and emerged
hybrid, some of her lips in his words, all of his fists
opened by trust like morning glories, and I smelled green
pouring out of trees into grass, grass into below, I stood
on the moment the earth changes its mind about the sun,
when hiding begins, and raised my hand from the hill
into the shadows behind the lovers, and contemplated
their going with my skin, and listened to the grass
in wind call us home like our mothers before dark.

-- Bob Hicok