Reflections on an Empty Picture Hook

a fire in the grate
old music softly
in the background
seems to fill the space
between
then
and now

I look at the bare spots
on tables
and walls
where parts of you were
yesterday

as the nest which was
ours
inexorably, relentlessly and
finally becomes
only
mine

Mea Culpa . . .

guilt is a
terrible
thing
it eats at your
heart
gnaws on your
brain
nibbles at your
soul
steals your
hope and
lodges in your
gut,

festering
if I’d known
it would feel like this
anyway,
I'd have done
something to feel
guilty
for

Spring Equinox

spring arrived at last
I thought the cold, dry
winter
would go on
forever

the sun is bright
flowers bloom
I filed for divorce last week

how odd
to wait through the spare, cold
dormant times
and then
when days grow long
the world’s in bloom
and every day’s a
promise
to choose that time
to bury
old love

shouldn’t it be the
other way
around?
April

Shapes in the Fog

ghostly branches
barely visible in the fog
mark my path
I strain to see the shapes
ill-defined and yet
inviting

it’s a relief to see even the barest outline
of a rock
a tree
a root
the merest hint of
discernible shapes
is proof that light
however pale
waits behind the thick white fog,
promising an end to the
density which
for so long has
blinded me,
muffled all sound
and forced me relentlessly
inward,
inward
to find and fill
the void within

Obligations

I know all about
obligations
I’m a master at
legalities
I know how to
massage
finesse
package and
present
rights and duties

you get this and
he gets
that, and
it all
works out,
balances, is
equal
in the end
write a check, or
several,
it all works out
in the
end
more or less,
oh yes,
I know all about
legal
obligations

it’s the moral ones
that are a
bitch