You are, I think, the only one
Whom I’ve arisen early for.
The only desired, anticipated woman
Who’s got me up early and out the door.

You weren’t there by my side
When I walked through the frosted glade;
When I summoned the courage and went outside:
(If you were near me, I would have stayed.)

But the promise of our future meeting
Was what got me up and going.
Anticipating our afternoon greeting
was what got my juices flowing.

O’er eastern mountains the morning sun comes up.
Because of you I’ve risen without needing a cup.

Fantasies of you/
get me through a very long ,/
boring solo drive.

OR
boring solo night.

I thot phoned German goo/
would serve U/
well and do/
what U wanted it 2./

With government restrictions,/
I c no contradiction,/
but rather just us/
being cautious!

New Year’s Eve I danced with a friend’s granddaughter — who was in the final, exhausting stages of hospital-phase chemotherapy. We rocked the house! I think it may have been the best New Year’s Eve dance I ever have had… and I wrote this about her a few days later.

The sick that gives her/
a shiny moon head cant kill/
the light in her eyes.

PS: She’s 5 years old.

Thumbnail moon hung on/
black silk over grand canyons/
makes me remember.

(OR)
makes me think of you.

I rolled over this morning
And the sheet was cold
And the bed was empty,
And I felt alone.

When I rolled back
Onto my back,
I squinted and read the words
You wrote.

And my sheet was warm,
And my quilt was warm,
And the words you wrote
Warmed my soul.

And I felt your form
And was no longer alone.

Poetry about /
you filled my head this morn, but/
I couldn’t get up.

3 emails, sev’ral
IMs, 4 calls, 10 texts =
she’s not int’rested.

OR
3 emails, sev’ral/
IMs, 4 calls, 10 texts mean she’s/
not interested.

Care to sit/
in a hot tub with me/
this evening, late,/
about eight/
thirty?

How Does It Feel? – A Sonnet. 1:46 p.m.
How does it feel
To go through a day
With no emotions revealed?
No poetry sent your way?

No heart on my sleeve,
No feelings in the flow?
No mistakes to grieve;
Just letting life go?

What would you think
If I stopped taking your time?
If I stepped away from the brink;
ceased sending you rhymes?

Who am I trying to kid?
After all, I just did!

How Does It Feel … Again? – A Follow-on Sonnet. 3:57 p.m.
How does it feel to be
The object of attention?
The one in dreams he seeks?
His mental intervention?

The one who makes lyrics
Pour from his soul?
The one who lets him hear it
Without losing control.

Does such a woman become
crassly objectified
when a man writes down
what he feels inside?

Or is she glad the man lets the world peruse
the inspiration that flows from his muse?