while i write until feelings are coral;
cutting to the innocent touch of others.

i talk of eyes, youth, love and longing,
she grins a thousand-yard smile; i wince.

a love traceable only to itself is alone
in the cold vacuum of worldly existence.

i walk in front of her for notice, any;
a grin from her is a blue plate special.

the calendar beats my memory of sixty;
days are to be spent on youthfulness.

a deserved rest is a summer rainbow;
at it's end, a feeling of accomplishment.

06/28/2007