Wild Cats

I sold a part of my heart
for a bag of cat food.
Precious and Gabby
     their given names
but they are really
     the Enigma's
(and who names feral cats, anyway?).
They are not so indifferent
as they'd have me believe -
miss a feeding, or be simply late
and it's impossible to conceive
how starved for affection
my feline friends had become.
These not-so-wild things,
they own me now.

By The River

I sat by the river
for a spell today
with thoughts as new
as yesterday.
Spent some time
in a book
'til coarse granite sand
called me to look
at suns' reflection
on a well-ground bit
of yellow glass
i thought should fit
so neatly, on a window sill
to remind of trials
that ground me well
removing guiles -
it was a spell come over me.
I've left it there
to find again
or for perhaps
an unmet friend
with greater need
of comforts there
where grass meets sand
and the river's care
can bathe them too.
There's enough to share.

Yeshua and Siddhartha

I'd like to think
they would have been good friends,
breaking bread and walking together
     among the banyans
or sharing a bowl of rice
and knowing smiles in Palestine.
Perhaps between the two
their goodness might have healed more.
I think they are -
     great friends, that is,
and completely understanding.
I wish their followers were.

A Kiss

When lips collide
as they are want to do
the tender crush
distills all to a moment revealing
what makes a man believe in heaven
is contained in her eyes
and released in her kiss

As yet untitled

That word we use to fill voids
in our emotional lexicon,
that short, sweet sounding syllable
well-intentioned and lofty
- and sold, at dear price of course -
that is not love.
It's not enough word
to encompass the whole,
but it will have to do.

I Want You To Know This

You really should know how things are,
watching the moon wax and wane
only to wax again
and seasons change one to the next
as in some small ways do I,
when I place my hand
in the cold ash
where once a consuming fire
carried sparks to the heavens
a palpable substance remains,
a lingering aroma
pungent and steeped in tears
hopes, laughter and fears;
you may think it mad
this well of feelings
that believed yours destined for mine.
Where the sun seeks
and climbs to your lips
it seeks mine too
repeating all in me
where nothing was extinguished
or forgotten
while my roots have set off
to seek another land.