If only we danced
with the Messiah on land

If only we sang
when a Peace was at hand

If only we hugged-
when Kings read the Greeks

If only we kissed
during extended French weeks

If only we loved
on-top an Armistice parade

If only we hugged
by free fallen limonade

If only we caressed-
without coffee/sugar/cream

If only we rested

destruction being Distant dream

If only we blessed
two weekends in a row I hear

If only we missed
the Paradise exit so near


In the early morning rage
a helpless quest
for ill-contorted shoes

In the daily afternoon’s wage
lunge and recoil
at tied time bound to lose

In the often night of age
uneasy excursions
(psst—“snooze that stays the snooze”)

In the praying midnight tolls
a semi-smile believed in
the toucing beauty of the muse

For Most

For most in my thought,
in my thought-stream’s
little splashes,

no pads of semi-permanence lie
in wait,

For most in my dream’s
life, in my went years
seen scaling up skies, I

have not substance to match
with wavering

For you,

on one end of love’s
radii-firmament, of physics
and company
burrowing through

the heart-set sense
of reconciliatory

for you

what I have
is yours alone, except
when mine

and still
in the original.