Tears

Perhaps crying is holy- 

each tear, 

a prayer,

a benediction, 

a quiet plea 

for only you 

to hear.

This is Enough

 It is enough, 

that I have lived 

this small life. 

I have not 

been given trophies, 

but I have 

held a child’s hand.

My name is known 

to so very few, 

but it is always spoken 

with a smile. 

It is enough 

that I have 

fed a neighbor, 

comforted a friend, 

mourned a mentor.

This is enough. 

Round

 If the world is round,

then even as you leave me,

you are coming back.

Fear

You, 

hurt, 

helpless, 

all alone 

and me, 

a thousand miles 

away and 

unable 

to reach you. 

This 

is my greatest 

fear. 

Intruder

 A cicada flew in, 

through the door 

I opened 

to wave goodbye 

to you, 

bouncing 

off of walls and 

staircase spindles. 

He disappeared, 

my darling 

(I assume it was 

a he, 

only something 

male 

could be 

so forceful 

and so 

unwanted). 

The Last Time They Met (A Found Poem)

 I have always 

been faithful 

to you- 

the experience 

against which 

everything else 

has been measured. 

Proof of my 

constancy: 

all of my poems 

are about you, 

even when 

they appear 

not to be. 

Poetry

 Poetry 

demands 

both sound 

and silence. 

Silence-

not the 

absence 

of sound, 

but the 

meaning 

of sound 

given space 

to resound.