Poem(s)

I’ve Learned to Love You in the Evening

I’ve learned to love you in the evening,
as the traveler learns to love the shaded meadow

Like him, I wrestle the sun for its energy,
a million beams I offer you

The darkening of light from gold to gray,
which suits your flushed cheek

I could watch this motion forever,
the day breaking upon us

You are plentiful in ways I had not imagined,
in ways I imagined were not mine to love

Oh how the world takes to you,
Oh how I take to you

In my meadow, you are a butterfly
of open flutters

Not mine or the earth’s,
but of an ancient rythm

Your touch sinks through me
as if I were empty

As if I were not a man, or even skin or bones,
but a cacoon you once had use for

A canister for your kisses,
I am content to be

There is little more to this world
than you in the evening

Now I am Hollow and Somber

Now I am hollow and somber,
having wrote to you all those nights

Like summer, you slipped through my cupped hands,
though you did not stain them of dew

I have nothing left,
I have loved you and you have not

Yesterday, you leapt swiftly
as the sun flees the cooled desert

Now my hands stick of flowers
but not of you