thoughts of...

He wrote,
of what
I'll never know.
Of course the ending brought tears.
Of course they were mine.
I left
one gray and foggy morning.
My ghost I took to haunt another.
My ghost never loved him.

Not too cruel,
but bitter-tasting from recollection,
as if infatuation
becomes a stooped old man
angry at my generation.
His pride could divide.
I teased to stay at length,
cautious of every frank utterance
and the wicked sly remarks.

This I know--
that he tempted goodness,
angels falling down to levels
always meant for less deserving.
This I know--
I never flew.
Not a clap of thunderstorms,
not an instinct housed
that led my forward-thinking heart.

Never too sad
about the abandonment
which shaped his present state.
And I think
this is what drew the love
to him.
Not love--
not Real Love--
but the lovers who gave too much.

I'm glad I left.

-G.B.W.

August

The shapes of birds--
all white with impending danger--
help make this journey
seem new.
Something different in my sky
until you arrive
and my fear subsides.
You don't know
what I crave half the time.
I'm no mystery,
I've never changed this unspoken yearning.
But you're learning
and I'm trying
new magic
and still search for that shine--
the gold from the earth.
But the wind still calls
for me to fly.
I don't want to lose you,
remember that always
while you're three thousand miles from me.

-G.B.W.