Potter's Remnant

the shape suspended
motion on a shelf
crazed with age
stiff and set
still, reflecting beauty

Preparing the Bed

The air weights,
cooling
the downing sun.

The garden imbeds
nails. Slivers,
white receives the black;
aged ridges share the grit;
pressing deep,
dimming
a cathedral of diamond's ring.

Knobby knuckles
need
this earthy place of rest.

Rest Home

first news shatters
quiet time for the brain

uncertainty triggers
busywork for the hands

her eyes are still
seeking clues to answers

my eyes discover
questions of my own

a clock keeps chiming
each hour's sleep, away

Memorizing Memories

I watch
my beloved
try on his father's shirt
unroll photos from both World Wars
palm a dismantled grenade and
ponder homemade puzzles
drawers of knickknacks
revive

Waiting for the Bus

inside, I'm plaid
eight years old
ready for school

red, black, some white
intersecting lines
on twirling pleats

but--no plaits
my hair bobbed, still
add forty years of gray

au revoir

the smell of smoke?
is it as they say?
she can not tell

but my arm feels
the wisps of her
white, white hair

feathery there
where once dyed silver
we tried to curl together

a stroke of the white
a swab of gums
minty air mingles

with my lips
I press
my goodbye

A Firm Handshake

rocking
ageless rhythm
one head, yes, one head, no
hands entwining perfectly still
agree

Winter Reality

she hears

a baby cry

in her small room of one--

they said don't indulge delusions

but I "there-there" her arms

which hold what's in

her sight

Serenade

this lady sings to me in French

in fetal position

in her airbed

despite the pain

sings to me "beautiful lady"

then something in French

how can I not be hurting her?

greater than life

bone pain strikes fierce

at slightest touch

yet she sings "beautiful lady"

to me

it's not possible to clean one

without touching one

turning one

beautiful lady