there in the twilight mist
we stand
our eyes in clouds
of regret
we grope forward
seeking rest
only to find the mist
too thick
for these aging
weary eyes
and longing
so heavy
on our hearts
regret
that lump in the throat
there were Christmases
birthdays
a gift here
a gift there
words exchanged
and some unspoken
pictures in an album
letters never sent
a shot of whiskey
here here
now
that lump
in the throat
called regret
like a wound
regret
like a wound
that never heals
throbbing
in the night
with a nod to Luis Lorente
what do they want
these dead
huddled along the walls
whispering in corners
eyes that plead
for some kind of resolution
leaving the regret
the remorse
heavy in the air
the waste of my heart
so many years
of regret
the waste
of my heart
when I look
at you
words never said
buried here
in old regrets
the words
oh the words
never said
how little we know
how little we know
of people
until
it is too late
to let them know
we learned
your name
popped up
in conversation
like Marley
it foretold of ghost
memories
of Christmases
though these
firmly rooted
in the past
and it’s not
even December
regret fills
my heart
this morning
as I turn
the page
on my desk
calendar
another month
soon another year
slips away
from what was
could have been
to what is
Coda by James Tate
Love is not worth so much;
I regret everything.
Now on our backs
in Fayetteville, Arkansas,
the stars are falling
into our cracked eyes.
With my good arm
I reach for the sky,
and let the air out of the moon.
It goes whizzing off
to shrivel and sink
in the ocean.
You cannot weep;
I cannot do anything
that once held an ounce
of meaning for us.
I cover you
with pine needles.
When morning comes,
I will build a cathedral
around our bodies.
And the crickets,
who sing with their knees,
will come there
in the night to be sad,
when they can sing no more.
sleep
sleep
when it comes
is unforgiving
interrupted by dreams
faces
long forgotten
crop up to speak
of defeats failures misgivings
recounted in great detail
torment now
here
in a land
heavy with memory
there is no respite
from the past