Song Cycle

I

Tell me a story

the warm wind ruffles 

the curtains of our calm.

weave your story in

the strands of my hair,

Of caravans and crackling fire,

of Druids swaying,

arms lifted balancing heaven,

of errant heroes

retrieving stars and swords,

Of God’s passion 

and Man’s taste.

The night wraps us 

in an indigo bedspread.

build cities to house doubt,

light a match, 

burn them down.

Fill oceans by touch,

Navigate cool forests of

comforting fear,

feet bare on the pine needle floor.

Tell me a story,

rest your dark head

against my chest,

your breath

damp prayers

whispered against my heart.

II

The light turns red

strong hands brake as her body curves into his.

The engine warm against 

bare legs cooled by night air.

She wraps her arms around him,

her hands pressed to his chest.
He reaches behind to tug her hair,
he lifts her visor, 
touching her face.
They turn to each other
knocking helmets 
but still, mouths meet 
dueling smiles curve lips.

The light turns green,
He shifts gears
they race away
her laughter trills
lingering desire on the wind.

                                     Lost in a memory and waiting to cross,
                                     I have missed my light
                                     missed my turn.

III

Please, let me borrow 

a teaspoon of your happiness

I seem to have misplaced mine.
Did I forget it in the pocket of my jeans 
and run it through the wash,
is it mixed in with the dust on my piano?
Perhaps it is under the seat in my car
mingling with sticky change and crumbs
or in the couch cushions
with much the same company.
Did I leave it folded 
in a stack of sheet music
or use it to mark the page of a book?
Did the cat lick it off my nose
in her midnight bid for food?
Did I use too much in the stew I made last week?
It WAS delicious.

Did I misplace it in my travels,
Is it currently hitchhiking across America 
or kayaking in the boundary waters?
Did I drink it as a shot of Pisco in the Andes,

or mix it with a morning cafe in Galicia?

Did I set it on a side table in a little house in Italy?
Has someone else picked it up yet,
Smiling and laughing?
I hope so. 

IV

I count breaths
late into the night,
When all is quiet
I count the breaths of the one near me.

When wind assails a settling house
and stars play tag 
with clouds
I count

When all with sanity
have long since slept 
and daily plans meld with dreams
I count

Stealing moments of time
existing to no one but myself
I count

Thousands of breaths

a millennium of moments

Desire, restlessness

sadness

love, hope, 

fear,

I count