Hyperbolic Love

Hyperbolic Love

If I stretch the chambers of my heart
As fingers of a child do
At play
I do
With silly putty
It is work
Laboring in love,
We wrap blood and muscle
Round and round
Till death
If I part the seas of raging water
Between us
And calm them
With a tender word
No man nor woman
Indeed no one at all
May put  asunder our fragile love
That which is joined by God
Mark, Matthew, and
The Methodist priest
I stretch the proclamation
In sacred acts of faith
A holy mystery
For I have been
The rusty gate
And I have
Been a wrecking ball
Into the wall
Of his beating heart
And yet
The Patient
And I would
Call it no small feat
Though war analogies are old and tired
Cliches of power, yawn sigh yawn
Show strength ad infinitum
And so
We must claim a form of victory
In this joining of two souls
And with all of Webster’s
From which
To choose
A word or two
There is no stretching
Of this truth
That what we have is
Hyperbolic love
Running on the holy fumes
And thus far
No asundering looms
On love’s
Quarter century mark
By grace
All four chambers filled
With what sweetly smacks
A wholly, holy
Regenerated life in love
And if you were to ask
By two hearts stretched by hyper-extended grace.


Joining Laura

Burnt Toast

Nearly 25 years in
I decide to ask for burnt toast
Villa D’Este can wait
Napa can ripen longer
On the vine, time sweetens
And Blackberry Farm ,well
The longing after this place and that
Over the Blue RIdge Mountains and beyond
Can’t match
The burnt toast, smell it, love is in the air
Behind it there is a love story
Of trying and failing
Trying and succeeding
Routine and change
Marmalade mornings
Love  wafts in the air, the fan dispersing the stale
Ruined, never
Broken, neither
Saved by grace, always
Love lingering somewhere
Cut and scrape
The black crumbs down the drain
Make it new and lovely
Paris is perfect for lovers
And no greater Francophile lives
Than I
But for me, on my anniversary
Champagne and burnt toast
Living the dream while
Going nowhere
Love carries us everywhere.


Paris Comes To Me

night on the water

Paris Comes To Me

And not even if the boat were bigger

Nor if the moon was  any rounder

Not if the air was any crisper

Could this night  be more splendid

We agreed it felt like Maine, though we have never been

So much of what we know and love will only be here

We may not pack a bag or sail away

Even for our 25th

But if we stay right here, exceedingly content is my middle name

I wear it on the nights like this

And you are owl and I am the pussycat off in a pea green boat

But ours is shades of blue

No small detail is lost on us

This night

For though I dream of Paris

To walk the streets I did for a year in  ’78 and ‘ 79

I could not breathe in

More fragrant joy than


Place that feels like mine

What I inhale  in this small creek into every pore and place


The one that spills with laughter, wine and wind

Love into the waterway

Under skies all shades of grey, pink peeks out, the sun and moon wink and nod

And we go home and wonder

One to the other

Could it be more magical than this

I long now for the nights

When Paris came to me

Pluff mud, shrimp boats, and clammers returning with their haul

These are not the Seine or my Boulevard Malesherbes

Maybe home was meant to hold you

And tie an  anchor to your soul

Love so blind we could not leave

Only off  each night in our petite  blue boat

Exceedingly content, my middle name

Before the one you gave to me those 25 years ago.