Originally posted 7/27/2013.

For each guest a gift —
honey in a small jar.  

Broad leaves laden with
sticky rice as a bed

for cloud-white fresh fish, steamed
and spiced. Tall tumblers

of tart juice, a good wine
of local provenance

in a thick-walled carafe.
After, fruits and nuts

placed within reach
to be eaten at leisure.  

When I woke, this all became
a rapidly fading dream.

Ten minutes later, could recall
neither the perfect conversation

that accompanied it
nor the name of she who sat across from me

and made me feel small and
as full of future as if I were a seed.

I did recall how her eyes
were sweeter than the fruit,

sweeter than the honey in glass
that glowed in the sunset; 

I still recall how much I wanted
to call that place home.

Originally posted 3/21/2010.

Silent now
after a yapping lifetime,
silent
and happy,
sitting on a rock 
by the shore,
naked except for 
my long gray hair,
happy to be called upon
only now and then
when my particular gray is needed
to color a braided rope 
someone is making
to moor their ship
when it comes in
or to dangle from
high on a cliff
on their way
from bottom to top.

With time, one learns
what one can give
without losing oneself
entirely, without the need
to discuss, criticize,
or loudly hate either 
the folly
or the fools 
who live it; so

I cut a lock for them to use
without another word,
knowing it will be so long 
before I’m asked again,
I’ll have time to grow it back;
silent, happy
to be needed so seldom
for so little.