Isis On The Road To Phoenix

So still
So small
So quiet
So easy to miss out there
on the glittering highway
where the sun devils play
in the desert wind.

Nobody even remembers
your brown and happy eyes.

They'll fall apart without you,
but don't let that be your problem.
You're so young, that's why they want you
to take it on your shoulders.

They'll tell you he's your brother,
so it's your obligation,
but your brother, he's in heaven,
he's beyond all help or hurting.

They want to put you in a temple
where the sun can't kiss your cheek.
So walk away from all their grasping,
their hands are slick and sweaty,
there's no loving in their touch.

Stay still
Stay small
Stay quiet
They'll never see you walking,
boot heels tapping softly
on the highway's empty skin.

Just A Rainy Thought

November's heart is full of dead leaves and wood smoke, her eyes are midnight blue and they sparkle with early rising stars. Her cape is the color of moss and fog and she ties it up close to her chin. She carries a lantern in one hand, in the other is a walking staff carved with runes and set with colored stones. She's older than the oceans but she's younger than tomorrow morning. If you saw her you'd say she couldn't be a minute older than sixteen.

If she asks you to dance with her, take her hand and waltz her to the edge of the cliff where the rain water runs down to the sea. Spin her and twirl her while the music pounds in your ears, and never look down, the drop is just too much to think about.

The Skunk

The Skunk showed up in a back yard around the corner a few weeks ago. He was lonely and hungry and he wasn't even The Skunk yet. He didn't even have a name. Nobody wanted him, but he wanted to make friends with everyone he met. When the world gave him indifference he answered with enthusiasm and friendliness and a manic desire to play fetch.

The Skunk isn't a real skunk. He's a black and white tuxedo cat, somewhere around a year old. From parts unknown he arrived at the back door of a kind woman who gave him food and became his first friend. He would have loved to stay there, but her cats wanted no part of a nameless street kid with big eyes and a bigger appetite. She fed him every day in her yard, and she took his picture and made found cat posters and put them up around the neighborhood, but no one responded. Wherever he'd been before, they weren't looking for him.

That's when Jane came into his life. She saw the posters and called the woman who was feeding him to offer her help in finding a home. Of course she fell in love with him on sight, that's the way Jane is. We've been rescuing animals together for more years than either of us cares to contemplate. Jane is the one who found a dirty, half dead sheperd mix in the street outside the subway station and took the time to rescue him while everyone else walked past on their way to the train. He became my dog Casey and was with me for twelve years, til he passed away earlier this year. The Skunk didn't know it, but his luck had just changed for the better. Jane was on his side.

When she called to tell me about him I had all kinds of reservations. After several months, I'd gotten used to the silence and stillness in here, used to coming home to an empty house. But when Jane has an idea she's difficult to resist. It's a large part of the reason I love her so much. Then we heard the weather report for the coming weekend, a brush with a hurricane bringing damaging winds and flooding rains. We couldn't leave him out in that. So on thursday afternoon we packed him in a carrier and took him to Dr. Neuman. I agreed to foster him for at least a week after he came home from the doctor while we looked for a home for him.

When Jane brought him to my place on friday afternoon his whole world had been turned upside down for the last twenty four hours. From a placid backyard existence he'd been boarded overnight in a hospital cage, had surgery in the morning, been poked and prodded by strangers, but still, when he stepped out of the carrier onto my bed the first thing he did was rub his face against my hand to say hello.

I knew by the third day that he wasn't going anywhere. He'd found his home, and it's a better place for his being here. Every day he lets me know how grateful he is, especially for all the food. He's developed a great liking for veggie cheeseburgers,
cold sesame noodles and mango ice cream, as well as an obsession with football games on tv. And today I bought him his own cat bed. Meeting Jane was the best thing that ever happened to him.

Autumn

All the horses march in slow circles around the meadow, kicking up the ground fog, under the autumn stars. Steam rising from the black earth, steam rising from their flanks, from their snorting breath when they paw at the moon. Keeping time with their hoof beats to the slow plaintive call of the frogs in the lake, keeping time to the beat of a young girl's just - broken heart.

They dance in slow circles across the wet grass, and their hoof prints are runes in a soft green prayer book. They dance for the equinox. They dance to remember. They dance to ease a young girl's pain. Tonight she'll dream all her hurt and sadness are trampled in the earth. Tonight she'll dream of wild horses, dancing across the sky.

Summer's Almost Gone

Emily is sitting on the corner of my desk with a bowl of mango ice cream in her lap. She takes a spoonful and her eyes light up while a big silly grin spreads across her face, "God Jim, this is better than sex!"

"Gee, Em, thanks a lot....what does that say about me?"

"Silly, you know what I mean!" She actually rubs her tummy and does a little sitting down dance, swinging the bowl like a chilly censer.

I'm sitting here at the computer, looking up at her. She sits on the corner with one leg crossed primly over the other. I put my hand on her knee, bare between the hem of her denim skirt and the top of her cowgirl boots, and I tap in time to the music Scelsa is playing on the radio. She sings along with Lou Reed's "Walk On The Wild Side" then starts to rock out in a totally over the top version of Neil Diamond's "Desiree" that has us both falling off the furniture laughing.

When we finally catch our breath she downs the rest of her ice cream and looks ruefully into the bottom of the empty bowl. "More later?"

"If you're a good girl."

She flashes me a wicked grin. "Then definitely more later! Yay!"

"For you, anytime, darlin."

She puts the bowl down on the desk, sits on my knee and puts her arm around my shoulder. "You look a little wistful, Jim. Everything okay?"

"Yeah, I think so. It's just the coming changing of the seasons. Tonight I noticed it was dark before Keillor's show was over. The days are getting shorter already. Seems like summer barely got here and it's leaving already."

"I know, Jim. But it's really alright. The things that matter don't ever change. And remember what I told you before, you will always have a choice, in everything. Even about you and me...."

I can't help but laugh at that. "Em, you know that choice was made the day we met!"

"I know," she says, "but I still love to hear you say it." She kisses me lightly, her lips taste of mangos and autumn. "That takes care of the important thing, Jim. Everything else will take care of itself." The silly smile comes back to her face, "Now, the really important thing....more ice cream please?"

August

We went to July's funeral and you danced in the smoke from the pyre, your hands weaving arabesques, your feet tracing the summer tide in the ashes and sand. And the heat lightning jumps from star to star, and the fireflies drift from tree to tree. And the river hisses on the sand, and your eyes reflect the summer moon.

And we twirled a dark waltz along the shore, my arm around your waist, feeling the black crepe and the sweat, and the eagerness of your breathing. And I can't wait to kiss you, but I'm making the moment last....

Missy

Two years gone now, since the night you went home. Little street mommy, scrounging in the trash can on a warm summer afternoon, a baby yourself and already pregnant. The minute I picked you up and you draped over my shoulder I knew you'd found your home. Soft shiny calico fur and the biggest green eyes I'd ever seen, and you looked at me with so much trust.

I remember that sunny Sunday you gave birth. We made you a nesting box in each room, and played Bach soft and soothing on the stereo, but you decided your babies should enter the world in front of the sofa, right on the carpet. I'll never forget the look on your face when the first one popped out! For fourteen weeks nobody wore shoes in the house, and everybody shuffled for fear of stepping on scattered kittens. We used up every connection we had to place all eight of them.

Then you settled into your role as grand dame of the estate, elegant, sophisticated, except when you curled up like a baby in the crook of my arm every night. You would sit in the window every day accepting the adoration of the school kids passing by, pointing at the pretty cat.

When Bobthecat came to live with us you were mightily put out, but after a time you accepted him as your annoying but lovable kid brother. And when Casey came you were his mommy and protector. You helped him to know that love is indeed possible in this world.

I was thinking of you tonight. Jane is away and I'm feeding her kids for the week. When I left her apartment Luca and Ollie were sleeping the sleep of the well fed, sleek and happy. I remembered how you used to love to lie on my stomach after your dinner, purring and kneading. I used to call you the boneless cat, for the way you adapted to any position I happened to be in.

You lived with me for nineteen years, and I wish I'd cherished the time more than I did. I know I got more than I gave, every day of those years. As you grew older you slept more and more, but still you always came to the door to greet me when I came home. You grew thin, and frail, but you were always happy when I came home. And two years ago today, when you were ready to make your last trip, I went with you as far as I was allowed, and I held you in my lap when you let go your last breath and lay still. The radio was playing "Long Journey." I walked home from the vet's office on a windy starry night, watching your soul playing in the clouds, young and free.

"My darling, my darling,

my heart breaks

as you make

your long journey...."

Two years gone. I still miss you, girl.

Summer Storm

This night is made of steam and candles, and rainfall watched through wet glass. There are halos on the street lights, cold wet misty rings that glow so bright. And the curb stone is the world's smallest cliff, rising inches above the rapids splashing down the street.

And I love the sound of your boot heels, splashing in the puddles, crunching in the wet sand, tapping on the concrete moonscape, tocking in slow, measured, clocklike steps across my bedroom floorboards.

You slip your boots off and they hit the floor with the sound of a storm cellar door closing, between us and the tornado. The black satin skirt swishes around your ankles when you dance a slow pavane. This isn't Kansas anymore, is it?

Emily Sets The Past Free

My doorbell rang tonight, late, and my heart picked up a bit. At that hour I knew it would be Emily. I love the fact that she can walk through walls, but she always rings the bell when she comes. I asked her about that once, and she just gave me a demure smile, batted her eyelashes and said, "Well Jim, you know I'm just an old fashioned girl!"

Tonight she had the serious look on her face, the look that says there's something important on her mind. I pulled her close and hugged her, it's a reflex when I see that look. "What is it, Em?"

She reached into the collar of her blouse and pulled out a thin gold chain that was around her neck. There was a diamond ring on it, plain gold, one small stone, an engagement ring. She opened the clasp on the chain, slid the ring off and put it in my hand. "Jim, do you think you can destroy this for me?"

"Whose is it, Em?"

"It's mine, Jim."

"Yours? I take it there's something you've never told me, honey...." I turned it over in my hand, so fine and small, just like her fingers. I thought of some man I never knew working up the nerve to ask her The Question, then scrimping and saving to buy her this ring. Some man I never knew, dreaming of spending the rest of his life with her....

"Tell me, Em."

Her voice grew small and far away. "I was engaged when I died, Jim. He lived down the block from me on Bennett Avenue, and he worked as a waiter in one of the restaurants on Dyckman Street. He worked so hard to buy this for me....He was a sweet guy, Jim. I think you would have liked him."

"I'm sure I would have, honey. But why do you want to destroy it? Sounds like it holds some wonderful memories for you." "It does," she answered, "but I need to do it to set him free. It's something I should have done years ago, but I just couldn't bring myself to do it, until I met you."

I love that she trusts me like that....

"You see, Jim, after I died I went to him, the same way I went to you. I loved him so much, I just couldn't walk away. But, it was horrible, Jim! He freaked out, he thought he was going crazy!" Tears were welling up in her eyes and her shoulders were shaking, I held her close and tight.

Finally she calmed down enough to go on. "In the end he cursed me and told me to never come to him again. He never believed it was really me, he was sure it was his own grief making him crazy. Everything I tried just hurt him more, til I felt half crazy myself. I knew I had to do what he asked, and just leave him alone."

"Eventually he moved on, married someone else, but whenever I look at this ring I can feel it pulling on him, burning a hole in his heart. It's time for me to let him go and be happy....I want him to be just as happy as I am, honey. And Jim, I'm happier now than I ever was before! Will you help me destroy it?"

How can you turn down a request like that?

I sat her down on the foot of my bed, facing the buddha on my altar. I took out a square of red tissue paper and handed her a red pen. In red ink she wrote across the paper, "Never And Always." Then she smoothed her skirt over her knees, and laid the paper in her lap. I gave her the ring and told her to wrap it up in the paper, then I took a length of red thread and tied the package closed. I placed it in the incense burner, lit a red candle and handed it to her, and told her to light the paper.

It burned with a white hot light, we had to look away. It was like looking straight into the sun. But in a moment it was over, there was nothing left but a little pile of ash. The ring left no trace of itself behind.

We picked up the burner and carried it outside, scattered the ashes in the midnight breeze. Emily heaved a painful sigh, wiped a tear from her eyes. "It worked, Jim! I could feel his heart unlock! How did you know what do do?"

Darned if I know, honey. Like all the good things that have happened since you came into my life, I just don't question it.

Rainy June Night

Your long black skirt is a midnight pool where its waters wash across your thighs, your hands splash in the black satin waves where they straighten the seams on your stockings. You can't be as young as you tell me you are, you're hiding extra lifetimes somewhere.

You sit on the bed swaying to the music, the candle flames gleaming in your eyes, your fingers dancing into minarets in the dark. You shake the rainy jewels from your hair like a night on the silk road a thousand dances ago.

And later on when you're sleeping I'll think of all this, and smile.

Joan Of Arc

(On this day in 1431, Joan of Arc was burned at the stake in Rouen, France. She was 19 years old.)

You float in cool water now, just another little girl riding her toy boat into a sea of dreams. Your skirt hitched up, wading knee deep in the stream. And the only voice you hear is the whisper of the breeze.

You walk through cool grass now, and the dew sparkles on your bare legs. Your basket is filled with chamomile and lavender and one perfect white rose. And the smoke is rising from your own chimney, smelling of fresh baked bread.

You shimmer in cool air now, the rain falling gentle while you dance in circles smiling up at the sky. Hands clapping, skirt twirling, raindrops glittering in your hair. Your bare feet tramping a little circle in the sand on the edge of the sea. And even the marsh grass is laughing, at how happy you look.

And you swear by the salt spray and the white sand, and you swear by the raindrops, and you swear by the neon halos piled high on your grave, that deep in your heart you forgive them.

Ghosts Of A Spring Night

Emily is sitting on the bed wearing my old L.L. Bean denim shirt. It's big on me, on her it swims like a trench coat. She's eating a sandwich, peanut butter and strawberries on whole wheat. It's one of her favorites. She's snarfing like she hasn't eaten in weeks. Good sex always makes her ravenous. She says I should feel complimented by it. I totally do.

She looks so happy I have to lean over and kiss her, and the kiss tastes like Jif and berries. Flashbacks to grammar school picnics in Prospect Park, sunlight and warm grass and sandwiches wrapped in wax paper. Portable radio tuned to the WMCA Good Guys. Singing "She Loves You" with my special friend Eileen....Emily always laughs when I reminisce like this.

She pushes her glasses up on her nose, crosses her eyes and makes a funny face at me. I warn her to be careful or it might stick like that. Life's good this Saturday night.

Memorial Day

The names of the dead are written on blood red ribbons and rolled up in prayer wheels for the faithful to turn.

The names of the dead are carved into flat stones and skipped across the waves to sink into the sea.

The names of the dead are written in warm white sand, waiting for the wind to pick them up and take them home.

The names of the dead are sealed into fireworks, waiting to explode across the summer night.

It's the least we could do for them, they deserve so much more.

Just A Night In May

There are too many ghosts on this road, they line the shoulder dripping and grey, with their eyes pleading. I don't even want your body any more, when we're driving past them.

And the moonlight never goes away, not even on the sunniest day....

I can't look too long in your eyes, there's too much knowing in there, and you're trying to be so brave when you joke with me. Days like this I don't know how to see you.

And the moonlight never goes away, not even when you're laughing.

One Night In Japan

The old wooden footbridge is wet with the mist, and the oil lamps that hang on the railings glow soft and yellow in the fog. The wind is still, the moon set long ago. The farther shore is invisible behind its blanket of clouds.

And your hand in mine is damp and cold as we step from the path onto the bridge, from the sand onto the wood, and the sound of your boot heels dissolves into the hiss of the river.

I slip your hand into my pocket, and we're walking so slowly the sun will probably rise before we reach the other side.

Life Before You

Every day I feel a little less here, feel a little less real. Fading away but I don't know to where. Feel like I'm looking at the memory of colors, trying to remember what food tastes like. There's dust all over everything, even my eyes.

Pretty soon I won't even cast a shadow.

Today I walked out the door into the damp ghost of an afternoon on Nova Scotia that happened before I was born, but I did my errands anyway and it almost felt real for a while. Feeling like I could have stayed home and phoned this whole lifetime in.

And then I remembered you'll be here tonight!

The Night Before Palm Sunday

Cool, damp Saturday night, and the sky outside belongs over the Finger Lakes in a November that's long past. There's a quiet hissing behind Scelsa's voice on the radio, the sound of the signal dancing through the clouds while Vin is playing a goodbye set for his best friend who died last Saturday, while the show was on the air. Emily is sitting on the bed humming along with the music. The look on her face tells me she's hearing something in this obituary that's beyond my ability to sense.

After a while she looks at me and says, "He's a lot happier now." "Who is, Em?" "The man Vin is talking about. He's resting now and there's no more pain from the cancer that killed him. He's seeing all the people he missed for all those years. You should see the smile on his face!" ....The smile on her own face looks like the best Christmas morning I ever had in my life.

Then she looked over at me and her face went transparent, and I could see the bones of her skull underneath. Only her eyes were still there, soft and brown and kind as always. She ran her hand through her hair, and I could see every bone from the cuff of her sweater to her fingertips. I looked down and saw the bones of her knees between the hem of her skirt and the tops of her boots. There were streaks of mold across her clothes, and her hair was dull and dusty.

I shook my head to try to clear my eyes, but the vision didn't change. I could feel a chilly autumn wind blowing around me, and I felt sand beneath my feet. I was looking at a stretch of empty dunes under a cold blue sky, sedge grass and boulders marking a dry river bed, dreaming forlorn dreams of fast moving water. I heard Emily's voice calling my name and I tried to follow it back to my room. I wanted to be as far away from that desert as I could get....

After a long time I finally felt the bed under me again, and Emily was holding her bony hand out to me. "Take my hand, Jim! Please?" It never occurred to me to do anything else. I reached out and, as soon as my fingers touched hers, she became herself again, warm and soft, pale skin and shiny brown hair. We sat for a long time, just looking into each other's eyes....then she threw her arms around my neck and held me so tightly I could hardly breathe. "Jim, I'm so sorry you had to see that! I'm so embarrassed, it happens sometimes if I think too much about death. I feel like such an idiot!" "Em, it's alright. You're still you and I'm still me, and nothing's changed between us."

Very slowly she relaxed and rested her head on my shoulder. "God Jim, I looked in your eyes when that happened and I saw so many things, but you were never afraid of me, were you?" "I love you, Em. Love kicks fear's ass anyday!" She started to laugh, long and hard, til her shoulders were shaking and tears were running down her cheeks. "God,"she giggled, "I was so scared you'd be grossed out!" That got us both hysterical all over again....

Finally we caught our breath, or at least I did, she has no need to, and we lay side by side, holding each other close. "Em," I asked, "that place I went to, that desert with the dry river bed, is that where your body is?" She was quiet so long that I thought she was asleep, but then she whispered, "Yes. And if you love me you won't ask any more questions about it."

And now she's fast asleep, I love the hint of a smile on her face. I only got up long enough to write this down, and now I'm going to join her. Can't wait to feel her so close to me under the comforter.

The Night The Clocks Change

Emily is sitting cross legged on my bed, wearing a sweatshirt, corduroy skirt and knee sox. She has my headphones on and she's listening to a Tara Maclean cd. Her eyes are closed and she's moving softly, humming along to "Let Her Feel The Rain."

Earlier tonight we took a walk around the neighborhood to watch the last of the snow melt. There wasn't much, just isolated patches on the salt stained sidewalks, sad grey mounds around the bases of the trees. She's told me before that spring is her favorite time of year and this is her way of wishing for it to come more quickly.

Not only is the snow disappearing, but tonight is the night the clocks move forward, and that's always had special meaning for me. Tomorrow the sun won't set til almost seven, and winter will drift into the past tense. Earlier tonight when we were eating ice cream cones on the Promenade you could almost make out the spring constellations on the eastern horizon. I showed her Orion skulking down toward the western rim of the sky, ready to sleep for the summer. She laughed and kissed me with pistachio flavored lips. It's her favorite.

We strolled the neighborhood for a couple of hours, watching the stars and the snow and talking to people we met. My favorite was a family from Quebec, here for a birthday celebration. Their daughter Veronique was seven years old and she was in love with Em. The whole time we were talking they held hands and played silly rhyming games. I could tell by the look in the girl's eyes that she knew what Emily was, and it was perfectly alright with her. She'll keep that secret her whole life, til she's an elderly lady walking by the St. Lawrence river on a snowy night, remembering the time she met a real live ghost.

Emily just took off the head phones and stretched herself out on the striped cotton comforter. One leg is bent, the other is straight and she's lying on her side with her chin in her hand, looking at me with her eyes full of hope and laughter. I know where this is leading, because she knows I can't resist her in knee sox. God bless her devious little mind!

Casey

We put Casey to sleep this afternoon. He was thirteen years old and he was the best dog who ever lived. I know, everybody says that about their dog, but with Casey it was really true. He changed my life and opened my heart in ways I never would have believed the day we found him.

I'll never forget that morning, twelve years ago now. It was my birthday, the morning after Memorial Day weekend. Joyce was moving out that week and taking her two dogs with her. Jane knocked on my door earlier than she wanted to and told me there was an injured dog lying in the grass by the subway entrance. Still without caffeine I put my sandals on and followed her up the street.

When I first looked at him I thought he was already dead. Dirty, bony, hardly breathing, lying in the grass with utter hopelessness in his eyes. He'd been dragged by a car and his right rear leg was black and skinless. I slipped a muzzle on him and told Jane to hold the leash I'd put around his neck when I picked him up. I was sure he was hurt badly and I thought he might snap at my arms when I lifted him.

We got him into a station wagon and I sat in the rear deck with him. Jane reached over the seat and handed me the leash and said, "Happy Birthday Jim!" I grunted something like, "Yeah, right." Little did I know....He was in the hospital for a week and needed six weeks of follow up care and rehab during which he lived with me. Then Jane said to me we could start looking for a home for him and I told her he'd already found his home, with me. She laughed and said, "I've known that all along, Jim. I was waiting for you to realize it."

And now it's twelve years later, and Casey was beginning to slip. I could tell he had aches and pains and they were getting worse, so I took him to the doctor. We tried different treatments but nothing was working. Then a test revealed he had incipient bladder cancer. It was only a matter of time then. I promised him that I wouldn't let him suffer, that I'd set him free before it got bad. For a couple of months he was doing alright, slowing down but comfortable and happy. Then a week ago he began to slip more quickly. Several times I had to help him up the front steps because his legs were giving out. He was getting sick to his stomach and losing control of his bladder. Finally on thursday night I sat by his bed talking to him and he gave me that pleading look, the one that says,"Please daddy, can I rest now? I'm so tired and everything hurts and it's getting worse. Please?" I called his doctor the next morning.

When I described his condition Dr. Neuman agreed there was only one kind thing to do, and we made an appointment for this afternoon. So I took him out for his morning walk and let him go as far as he wanted and let him decide when to turn back for home. I made him his favorite breakfast, kibble with a little beef and liver cat food and some maro-bone treats. He ate most of it and lay down on his bed, looking far away. I sat on the sofa next to his bed, petting him between his ears. "I understand, puppy" I whispered to him. "We're going to take care of it all for you today. And I promise that after today you'll never hurt again. No more pain. Not ever."

Jane came down about 12:30 and we left to walk him to the doctor's office. The day was grey and cool, breezy and the clouds were moving fast overhead. Casey wanted to stop and sniff almost everything we passed and I let him take all the time he wanted. I knew it was our last walk together and I didn't want it to end. I think maybe he knew it too.

At the office he perked up when he saw Dr. Neuman, he's liked her since the day he met her. She made us tea and Jane fed Casey treats while the doctor got everything ready. Then she brought a mattress into the room and covered it with a soft towel. She gave him the shot of liquid valium and Jane and I helped him to settle on the mattress while it relaxed him. Then we sat on the floor on either side of him and petted him and talked to him while he fell asleep. When his breathing was slow and deep the doctor gave him the shot of morphine that would stop his heart and lungs and finally let him rest.

We sat with him for about half an hour, still stroking his fur even though he wasn't there to feel it anymore. I'm pretty sure I actually saw his soul leave his body and give me that coyote grin of his before he turned and left the room. Finally we stood up and reached down, touched him one last time. His fur was always so soft. Jane told him he was a sweet dog and I whispered, "See you later, Case." And we took the long slow walk back up the hill.

And now it's night time, and his dishes are still on the kitchen floor. Water and kibble that he'll never need again. I'll pick them up when I clean up the kitchen later. His collar is sitting on the table, the same one Jane picked out for him on the way home from the hospital twelve years ago. It was the symbol that he'd found his forever home.

Casey was thirteen. He was good and brave, and he was the best dog who ever lived.

100

The lights are down so low the room might as well be lit by a fireplace, and I can smell the melting snow through the open window. There's no wind on this saturday night, nothing to make the stars move faster.

And you've raised your long black skirt up to your knee, to pull your spike heel boots off, you drop them on the floor with the sound of a car door closing in the desert, keeping us safe from the sand and the falling stars. I love watching you roll your black stocking past your knee, love seeing you cross your bare legs on the bed spread.

And your hair still glitters with the night dew, and you untie the black ribbon from your throat. And the fog is rolling in the window, and your eyes are so wide in the dark.

And now you're sleeping, my flannel shirt reaching almost to your knees. And that secret smile is still on your lips, I wonder what you're dreaming. In a minute I'll turn this machine off and lie down with you, but first I had to write this. According to the counter, this is my 100th blog entry, and I wanted it to be about something really special.

The Last Night Of January

Watching in the warm glow of the salt lamp while Emily sleeps. She's curled up on her side on the bed, hands clasped on her breast like she's saying a prayer, and the softest ghost of a smile is playing on her lips. A minute ago I reached over and took her glasses off her, put them in the desk drawer for safekeeping. She looks so much younger without them. She's wearing one of my t shirts for a night gown, her skirt and sweater are folded over the back of a chair. She's very particular about keeping her clothes neat.

It's one of those nights when you're glad to be inside. Out there it's so cold and dark and brittle, the stars seem almost too close in the clear air. When we came in from walking Casey earlier she unzipped my jacket and hugged me tight, "God Jim, I'm so frickin' cold! Wrap me up in your coat!" I closed it around her and kissed the top of her head and we both laughed at how good it felt to stand there like that, no space and no time between us.

Her lips are moving in her sleep, some dreamy mantra that I'll never hear whispering through her head. When Bobthecat was alive he used to curl up against her stomach at times like this and purr his little head off; I wonder if he's doing that now, beyond my ability to see him. I hope he is.

Winter Night Prayer

Want to walk in the ocean with you again, like we used to do. Back when it was always Saturday and it was always July, and your skin glowed sandy gold in the morning light.

And your eyes were the color of tomorrow, and I could taste the salt water on your lips when we kissed. And you were feeling shy because you'd never worn a two piece before, and I loved walking with my arm around your naked waist.

Want to walk in the ocean with you again, like we used to do. Swimming out past the breakers to where the shore was just a warm dry sliver, and your hair drifted like the ghost of seaweed over your shoulders. Holding hands floating, letting the waves rock us almost to sleep. And we were feeling happy, knowing the bottom was so far beneath us that the sun never reached it.

Want to walk in the ocean with you again, like we used to do. Walking back to the beach kicking up sand and spray in the red evening light. Wrapping my shirt around your wet shoulders, watching you step into your cutoffs. Walking the cool sand with our arms around each other, and we couldn't stop laughing. And we never wasted our time remembering, because it was all still in front of us.