The pain sings
even after the leg
has been lopped off
to prevent gangrene.

The past has its own
cry of disappearance,
the flesh and bone 
of old friends ghosting,

schoolmates from summers
smelling of sun and water, 
or colleagues from cubicles.
Can we find each other when

the years have sent us from 
communal spaces into 
distant cities, away from 
the old laughter?

Ours is a different song now,
no longer a chorus of high voices
around a guitar but a long chant
into a night of falling stars.

Each year we start my special day
To leave our state for a lovely place
Full of arful fibers and quilted stuff
An annual destination and tradition

So next we hit an art store for sales
And buy buttons, fabric, and paints
For creating my own collaged tales
Inspired by viewing quilting saints

Then nature leads but does not pale
A source for all to be newly inspired
The fount of colors, patterns, views
We see her in all our creations anew.

In a lagoon
ringed by tangled mangrove trees, 
guarded by birds —
egrets, herons, pelicans
perched on branches, roofs of houses——
there were manatees
who visit every year
for warm springs
and a banquet of sea grasses. 
Gentle giants
with flippers and soulful eyes like seals, 
gray hides like elephants,
they seemed nowhere and everywhere
swimming around and through and past us
as if we were part of the scenery. 
One barely touched my foot, 
and I could feel the wet hair on its back
where some of them had scars
inflicted carelessly and cruelly. 
Above the surface
they swooshed noiselessly
like fish
but underwater
I heard sounds,
squeaks and clicks
all around me. 
Was it their language? 
Was it their songs? 
Was it their laughter? 
Ever after
I will hold dear memories
of manatees,
how curious and kind they were
to intrusive strangers.
In my submerged dreams I see
a world where nature and humanity
co-exist
respectfully and joyously,
none of us exploited, 
none of us endangered.

Between the bars, the world spins fast,
A dance of moments, present and past.
Buzzing cars and city lights,
A symphony of urban nights.
Endless caring, hearts entwined,
A love, no bounds, undefined.
Yet in the shadows, a secret bliss,
A forbidden kiss, a hidden wish.

Moonlight, shining bright above,
A witness to this clandestine love.
It paints the night in silver hues,
Revealing secrets, ancient truths.

Whispers carried on the breeze,
Confessions made beneath the trees.
A love that's bound by worldly might,
Yet in the darkness, takes its flight.

Between the bars, where secrets hide,
Two souls entangled, hearts collide.
In moonlight's glow, their love takes flight,
Pearls of passion, hidden from sight.

To gaze into the face of paper
until you see time's eye 
staring back and read
ancient hieroglyphs scrawled
across its iris.

To turn ink into fire,
a crackle of twigs
smoking signals
down a shaded pathway
lost in the woods.

To let ink be black creek water,
spilling over stones 
until it craves speech. 

To make violets sprout
from a plain white page.

To fill the room with
the scent of honeysuckle,
roses, cinnamon rolls
baking in the morning.

To shred the page
into small pieces,
throw them overhead and watch
fifty white butterflies
flutter through the house.

Save egg cartons for Tiffany,
toddler's socks for Betty Lou,
little boy's jeans for Alice,
and, this afternoon, save the world too.

If not the world, maybe just one place
where moms hide toddlers behind any wall,
where bombs turned all to rubble and dust, 
and no one seems to care at all. 

But you and Lou will march as one with others,
share water, snacks, and a cramped ride
because parking, you know, is hard to find. 
And you'll push your strollers side by side.

Some angry man spits, "It's their fault!"
"They're all terrorists," others say.
Don't make eye contact, just march, 
think of your friends, breathe, and pray.

You lost-cause moms show up,
as you believe you must.
You're fighting for your own souls and know
this lost cause, as most go, is just.

And when the march is over
you'll walk back to the van.
Change diapers, fold, and tuck,
and drive back home again.

You check the kids in the rearview
and ask yourself, "Was this day well spent?"
Hope and doubt all swirling about,
you tell yourself, "It made a dent."

In Mississauga, where nature's beauty thrives
Where trees and rivers flow in perfect tune
With friendly faces in their daily lives
A lively vibe beneath the sun and moon

A gem amidst the lakes, this city gleams
Its charm in parks and gardens, evergreen
A place of peace where joy and laughter streams
A haven in the urban bustling scene.

The Credit River, like a silver stream
Meanders through with gentle, calming grace
A spot for lovers, where they often dream
A muse for artists, in its scenic embrace

Oh! Mississauga, a beacon in the night
Your splendor shines with everlasting light

After you left 
I kept your shirt
it smells like you
I wear it often
to help me feel
like you are still here
to give me comfort
did you wonder if you
had maybe misplaced 
or just forgotten it?
I doubt you even cared
that it was gone


(Lyrics of Our Lives
Copyright 2005)

COME TO ME SLEEP
BRING ME TO THE WELL OF DREAMS

	I will come if you will be there
	Have a cup ready

COME SLEEP, WALK ME, LEAD ME
FILL ME WITH THE LULLABY HUM OF DARKSOME NIGHT

	Poetry won't help you
	Come alone
	Sleep comes when you are on your own

COME TO ME SLEEP
FILL ME WITH A PANOPLY OF STARRY LIGHT

	The edge is close
	I've filled your cup, now drink and
	Trip the blurry boundaries of the night
	Dive into the liquid deep on your solo flight.