Daniel, thoughts about a friend on his birthday (mostly unfinished)

To be an artist and troubled,
untroubled, beautiful — as beautiful as you and…

My dreams seem more vivid than they used to;
I credit you, unsure of how you are responsible.

Everything your ex-lover does reminds me of you,
reminds me of laughter, but not his, of yours,
reminds me to stop and notice nature, reminds me…

You were looking back at me through
the ceramic eyes of that white stag.
You’re in everything. I wonder if you’re real, if you…

I’m whispering secrets about you
to myself on cold nights.
I’m wondering what you’re creating — love, beauty,
magic, great catastrophes, or…?

You’re still dancing through trees in my brain,
you are plucking the commonest items,
pointing out the simple beauty, the perfection, the…

I wonder what your skin feels like.

I’m in love with who I am when I remember I know you.



a squash blossom
perfect and lovely
so often overlooked.


Autobiographie de Mom Affection

My heart is fragmented, the pieces promised to many and too few.
Wholeness feels distant, a great space waiting to be filled makes my own soul seem oddly empty.
Greatness has found me through those whose lives have been bigger than mine, more than mine – folks whose presence has occasioned my to feel touched by God.
I know a beautiful lady who seems younger each time I see her and have the fortune of calling her a friend and my mom.
I’ve known beautiful ladies who I feel connected to even years after death. Grandmothers, great grandmothers, great aunts, friends.
Life’s losses, so definingly sad for the melancholy are of people I love to remember. Friends, boisterous and infinitely humorous friends. The lives they touched now moving in various directions, away from them, not even grasping.
I’ve brothers and a father who have made some of the best friends of my life. They seem to loom above me, the things they’ve done so much more important that who I feel like I am at times. I love them for it.
Even children with their own special chaos find my heart and steal it. Nieces and nephews, little people I want great things for,
It’s me sometimes, but more often it is them. I’m not even a slight fraction of who I am without the friends and family that have made me, are still making me. My! How different things feel at thirty.



Let’s still be friends when we’re old and cranky,
turning to each other for the laughs that get us through the day.

Smile warmly over a silent coffee about the beautiful people we’ve known,
now scattered across the globe or lost. I’ll nod that I understand.

Sometimes, I can’t bear the estrangement I feel
when you’re in your own home and I’m in mine.
Be my friend until the last days of my life.