To Be Full

People
always
ask
me,
"What
are
you
doing
this
summer?"
And
I
realized
that,
this
summer,
I
will
be
full.
Of
awakening
places
and
people.
And,
I
will
be
fulfilled.
Oh,
how
joyous.

Francis Bernard Beaubien

You
always
seem closest
on this day.
Perhaps
that
is
why
I've
been
laughing
so
hard.
You,
lying
under
opressively
white
sheets,
the
aqua-
marine,
neon
lit,
tiled
floor
carrying
sound.
In
your
passing
you
said
you
thought
you
heard
me
laughing
in
the
hallway.
And
I
catch
people
saying,
"Oh,
I
love
to
hear
him
laugh."
I
never
tire
of
hearing
it.
Because,
in
the
seventeen-
plus
years
of
your
departure;
I
still
want
you
to
hear
me.

Forward

The
smell
of
lilacs
drifting
on
spring
air
had
given
way
to
lilly
of
the
valley.
And
I
took
a
step
forward.
Heavy
of
heart.
Sometimes
the
right
decision
is
the
hardest.
How
many
times
must
I
learn
this?
Actually,
I
know
the
lesson.
It
just
never
gets
easier.
I fill
vases
with
the
musky
scent.
Tears
flowing
freely.
The
morning
light
making
little
rainbows
when
I
blink.
A
mourning
dove
coos.

13 days

I
thought
this was the spring
that
I
could
get
a
head
start
on
my
garden.
I
had
always
held
onto
the
belief
that
in
this
place
of
springs
that
are
always
welcomed;
May
15th
was
the
day
one
had
to
wait
to
insure
growth.
I
look
at
the
calender
and
note
that
it
is
May
17th
and
a
hard
frost
hit
last
night.
I
had
covered
the
fragile
basil
in
hopes
that
it
might
survive.
I
now
wait
for
the
sun
to
bring
some
warmth
back
to
the
earth
and
then
the
unveiling
will
take
place.
This
is
the
thought
running
about
my
head
as
I
think
back
on
this
year.
Being
so
close
to
the
end
it
happens
to
be
something
that
is
constant
with
me-
reflection.
After
a
trying
week
it
also
helps
one
to
think
of
all
the
good
things.
This,
I
learned
from
my
Mother.
More
than
just
the
good
things;
this
particular
time
I
am
thinking
about
how
thankful
I
am
for
being
allowed
to
do
what
I
do.
Sure
it
can
be
challenging,
and
frustrating,
and
tiring.
But
my
heart
never
fails
to
warm
when
I
smell
the
diesel
fuel
of
a
bus
in
the
crisp
morning
air
waiting
to
pick
kids
up.
My
basil
survived.

The Gift

Hafiz, The Gift. A collection of poems by a Sufi Master. A long time ago I stumbled on one of his that became a favorite: "Even / After / All this time / The sun never says to the earth / "You owe me." / Look / What happens / With a love like that. / It lights up the whole sky."

To Journey

So,
here it
is.
I
had
busied
myself
trying
to
clear
you
of
my
head.
But
it
lingered
there.
Hanging
around.
Revisiting
me
eveytime
I
thought
of
the
time
I
was
riding
on
the
handle-
bars
of
the
bike
you
were
captaining
and
we
would
fly
over
potholes
in
the
gravel
road.
And
one
time
things
went
differently
and
I
wound
up
with
my
foot
tangled
in
the
spokes
of
the
bike.
And
you
carried
me
home.
The
pounding
of
your
heart
pounding
through
me.
Always.
Now,
I
travel
south
for
the
news.
Your
heart
pounding
through
me.