oh how brief

the ice melts
in the glass
of Black Bush
and my mind
like the ice
dissolves
into memories
of shared bottles
of old friends
of time past
and oh how brief
ice lasts
in a glass

Qiaoen on the beach

she stands
at water’s edge
gentle waves
lap her feet
there is no breeze
to disturb
her long hair
which hangs straight
down to her waist
islands dot
the horizon
no boat
or other person
in sight
she gazes back
those eyes a question
on her solemn face
there she is
Qiaoen on the beach

toward the east: for Qiaoen

the scent of jasmine
hangs in the air
the cup of tea
grows cold on the desk
a lone dog
howls in the dark
the clock on the wall
ticks away the night
and my mind
turns toward the east
five long hours away
where the morning sun
shines high in the sky
and this planet earth
is graced by her smile

the words

the words
so faint now
at three am
with a glass
or three
of Jameson
to add to the haze
that is memory
here there
somewhere
a voice fades
in out
and time
that old bandit
robs me
once again
of the words

the questions

there is a world
out there
beyond the window screen
and as he feels
the breeze brush his face
on this mild winter day
he wonders
what would life be like
outside the safety
of this house
and the cat
looks back
at me
as if I had
all the answers
to all the questions
in both of our heads