I was never great at love poems, but these two are probably my best.
Gravity: Summer Solstice, 1992 - for Mary Go tell it to the sea, how he should let go his moonstruck, his shameless high tides – climbing each day, each night kissing at her cloudless indifference. Perhaps he'd answer that it's all cyclical – hope driving him up the beach and the brooding low tides. Even so, most of his time is chasing fish into nets, lobbing bodysurfers towards shore, and coming to grips with a notion – there is nothing new under the sun, and what goes up must come down. Crabs have always scuttled among the rocks. Sharks are still enforcing Darwinism. And late this summer hurricanes will once again rage up the Atlantic coast. But only one moon, fair as pearl dust, trails her sable skirts across the night sky, and what is the ocean besides his faith in gravity? – dreaming the day wanderchild falls, when fire makes peace with earth and sky with restless sea. High Country Wireless (Imbolc, 2000) - for Angela 1. The spirit country is too vast to string with wire, to arc into a blade-sharp wind and stand tar-soaked poles across the bottomless miles. Clouds curve white along the peaks, sift down through the back country beyond the boundaries. Night climbs up, carves itself into the valley floor. 2. Cathedrals of commerce interrupt the sky. But lapping on the shores of sleep, dreampop pools – rainbowfish dancing in silvery tides. Sweat freezes on our faces, our breath like angels flying back to Heaven. 3. We bind ourselves with ice and darkening sky, we are blood music lingering in a booth at the back of the bar, we fumble for wavelength on an antique dial.... We are the disconnected generation: our fathers and mothers, broken on the Christian Wheel our unborn, more circuitry than flesh our brothers and sisters and friends and lovers, whose anesthetic memories of us are dust motes floating in a stained glass haze.... But you shimmer, vermillion gash ripping the afterdark, haunting the dollhouses in Daddy's little dreams. Shine it on burn it down scream until the night sky shatters raining shards of star and borealis caught, like glitterpits black and sparkle in the laughter of your eyes.