A Lonely House


My heart had become
a lonely house,
abandoned at lands end,
deaf to the complaints of the wind
and the clamorous cries of the terns,
its empty rooms echoing only
the tumultuous roar
of the surf at midnight
When you came
the doors swung wide
the shutters clattered madly
The halls became        
huge inviting arms
which drew you in.
You removed your shoes
and the sand-strewn floors
caressed your feet.
The splintered window panes
multiplied
the blazing kindness
of your eyes
Your presence flooded
the darkest corners with light.
You came into my heart
like a guest
who fills a place left vacant
at the table.
You stayed as the secret sharer
of my cloistered dreams.

 

 

The Wrong Season


He planted the roses
in the wrong season,
deceived by the string of
balmy days
into thinking spring had come.
He churned up the soil
and mixed it with peat moss
and bone meal.
He laid down a two inch blanket
of black mulch.
But a sudden cold snap  
left the buds hard and brittle
the sprouts rubbery to the touch.
He fertilized them daily
but it was like trying to pump life
into a corpse
or to revive an adolescent love affair
which had come to naught.
Finally he yanked them out
and vowed to try again next year.