I wish the women in my life
vibrant and alive, one and all
would see themselves to be
as radiant as I see them

I wish everyone who feels shamed
for being older than the magazines
would look at their beautiful, well-loved hands
and see how many lives they have touched

I wish the friends who doubt their actions
and wonder if they will carry the day
would see themselves as competent
and stand up, today, just a bit straighter

I wish the children who sit alone
because they are different
would rise up and shout
look at me, I am glorious

I wish the old man
standing on the corner
had a son to come
and gently lead him home

I wish all the horror
and pain of the world
would vanish
and joy would flood our hearts

I wish that I did not have to ever
wish any of these wishes

sometimes we can’t talk easily
but this time, lying together
the words came,
and I asked, did you desire me
you said, my desire isn’t much there
for anyone

you apologized, more than once
for how things are with you right now
but oh, my sweetest love,
that is so unneeded, all that I want
is you, however you are

your head on my shoulder
your eyes gazing at mine
your hair against my face,
sweet from the shower;
and to know that
as much as you do anywhere

you have a place in my house
my closet, my bed, my heart;
and that now it is only a few days
until I feel again your hair
against my face, smell again
the scent of your shampoo

you gave me a gift
this past visit
of letting me just
be present

touching you, walking
together in a museum
making dinner
listening to music

the gift of being in my skin
for a whole weekend
and so much so, that,
although my mind desired

to feel my skin against yours
another time, you held me
and we drifted easily
into sleep

When I next see you
then, my lover,
your skin and mine
will remedy that oversight

joy rises from the root
bubbles out my heart front and back
into the world, taking with it
long-forgotten or never-known
scarred memories and flawed enclosure
of my mother’s arms, and all the others
who were her surrogate;
who, had I only been aware
might have been deep loves but instead
were just the target of my fear and pain;
and my heart cannot help being
open, regretful, that I never saw
in those multitudes of eyes
their deep blue and golden true selves

but now, my dear loves, I see you,
I see you; and what wonder
to be enabled to witness your identity
moment by moment unfolding
into the glory and radiance
you were born to embody,
the heat of your arm searing my hand;
the light shining from your eyes
unflinchingly illumining, finally,
my better self emerging from the fissure
reborn over and over

the first time around, the unaware part
my life went down wayward alleyways
but this time, however much time I have left
I get to nudge and cajole my reluctance
into not turning my back on the world’s pain,
or on yours, and who can say whether the tears
are joy or sorrow or both at once;
but, my heart’s desire, as I see them
fall on your arm, feel them on my face
at last I am fully here in my skin
present to whatever we discover together

At dinner, I let you
read something I had posted
feeling massively vulnerable
as your eyes scanned my manifesto
I saw your cheeks flush
then you looked up at me and said
no man had ever held
a container for you
ever
energy was pouring out of you
toward me
and my eyelids were heavy
with the desire to be
a breath away from yours
but we are moving slow
which I also desire;
later I kissed you
just a touch, slow,
like our whole process

this is so sweet
and lovely
to find a space
within me
where you are safe
breaking off the rough edges
of my impatience
turning it into a slow, slow song,
adding a voice to the structure,
deep joy possibly looming;
and somewhere in me,
in some place I can’t name,
along with everyone else
already moving together toward
something we haven’t defined,
a new path opens

Every time I drive a certain route
I drive frequently to a nearby city
there are new and different blooms
at every level, ground and treetop
and the pale green of new mesquite leaves
the perpetual dark green junipers
the multiple grasses that later
will be golden or brown or grey

Every time I lie with you
there are new and different ways
you touch my heart and my skin
at every level, softly and deeply
and the touch of your hand on my arm
on my shoulder, on my back
will one day also be both
as familiar as the landscape
and as new as each spring’s growth

The blessing in this is that
this is true for all the yous
that I lie with, whenever that may be
and my heart continues to expand
making room for new touches,
new words, new glances
at all levels, rewiring old pain
into complete and total joy

Walking out in the backyard
the flowers you planted years ago
are still blooming this spring
this space, which I dug and you planted
I have now inherited alone.
I never expected or planned for this
that I would have to leave you,
that what I thought was for a lifetime
was only a third of that;
seeing the bright buds beginning to open
i have to suddenly sit in the grass
tears flowing down my face
it feel like a loss, like what was
so heavily invested in by both of us
is just thrown out, dead
on the compost pile; and yet
no love is ever lost or wasted
I know this in my body now;
I now have love again,
and perhaps you will too;
but that is not my path
to wander or wonder about anymore;
for now, I simply walk the flagstones
we both set into the back of the garden
so that the alstromeria my mother lovingly tended
that came from her aunt’s yard in Lake Charles
and who knows from where before that
could be cut, brought in, placed in a small vase
which now sits on my shelf, ready, waiting
for the blooms to begin soon, while in my heart
love blooms again, what I thought impossible
now tripled and quadrupled
and in my body this flows upward from the ground
out all of the rest of me into you, and you
and you, all of you gathered in my heart.
I no longer have any illusion
that I can know how long these flowers will bloom
or how long my heart will remain open
but I do know that open, blooming, fading, dying
is all better than never having tried.

you were going to meet me
for an anxious medical appointment
but were late
there is a drink named after you
at your favorite bar
called, waiting for you
well, it’s waiting for
(your name)
but I won’t put that here
yet, but
I love that
I love waiting for you
so then we went for coffee
to debrief
about many things
and I asked for ten minutes
to sit in your truck and touch
before you took me back to my car
and you said, but my windows aren’t tinted
so I kissed you
I said that the things you had said
to me
a few nights ago
burst my heart open
and you said, there’s one more now
you said, drive safely
there is someone who loves you
waiting at home
I am still rippling in the energy
that started up my spine
when you said that
looking in my eyes;
I am still needing to wipe away
the tears of that

Uneasy night, disconcerting daytime;
alone in what seems at times
too big a house; at others
the walls close in, straightjacketing;
and I know alone is what I need
but multiple longings preoccupy
my thoughts. my skin, my eyes
finding things in each room
that remind me of someone
I won’t see for a day, week, or more;
and thoughts run their inevitable
greasy course to the end
where I am unworthy, undesired

and the only thing that stops
joy being cancelled by dread
is gratitude

so I will myself to stand here, now,
in this place, this time
grateful, overflowingly,
for every moment of love
that has come my way;
but most especially
for those most recent;
for the hands and skin and eyes
that tell me beyond even my own
shadows of doubts
that I am desired, cherished
and at the last fully,
unconditionally, seen.

I swim in waters I cannot see through
I hear between the lines
and hallucinate that I know
what you think
or that we can ever really know;
and the water is murky, not in a way
that makes me feel icky
but just with suspended silt and debris
of my life and yours and all of ours;
and I want to know what is ahead
and I want to know what will be between us
next week or next month
or at the end of one of our lives;
and I sometimes dream
unbearably sad dreams standing
at your grave and wake up sobbing;
and then I see your eyes
and you lay your hand on my shoulder
and I grip your back, turning
as we dance, and each step of that
still totally uncertain to me
and I wish that I could only
hold all my steps with that much openness
and be in your life the lead
that can make room for the other dancers
and swim sleekly and gracefully
into the uncertainty of the next stroke