Coltrane and Rainy Days

Cursor blinking on the page

unfinished labor of money, not love

while lost in a moment of Coltrane

always back to those honeymoon days

where it was cool and rainy outside,

cool and warm inside, barefoot in blankets and books

philosophical political purposeful conversations,

nights filled with red wine, the soft twinkle of

patio lights surrounded by passionate minds and

laughter, the burning of more than just candles

between us.   Another time before children,

before the fast-forward of life and cymbals

banging, before beds were strictly for sleeping,

before bright lights.  Maybe it was only a moment

or something we saw in a movie once

where Uma Thurman played me, and Brian

Greenberg, the light skinned Jewish version

of the brown and beautiful you,

but without the conflict.

Lost in the lazy piano and hot-blooded

trumpet, I can see those artist hands

of yours against my white arm

resting on the slow breaths of your chest.

Music drawn to a sad close,

I hear it– flashing cursor, pinging email,

stacks of paper.

But this day; this life,

was meant for so much more.

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Glazed in esteem beside the white parchment

black pen and blank journal
like the red wheelbarrow
on which so much depends

keeper of dreams
delicate wrapper of the future
and the past

a field of flowers clouded
with darkness and shadows
a battlefield of mistakes

defeated by knowledge and
gratitude for lessons learned
seeds of regrowth

black pen and blank journal
let your secrets escape
to shine their light

on a world bereft of poetry
flowing through the veins of society
and fill its soul once more