When he blocks his ears
to the questions
and tells me nothing
I want to hear,
when he thinks his answers
are the only ones
that I may fear,
these are the times
the ocean calls,
right about Anne’s age,
the moment all my falls
are storming in on my rage.
Disclosing nothing
pleading the fifth
to your assumptions on my wings
floating above the waves
hiding it under the rocks and things
that will be meaningless one day
my kids will give parts of me
to the poor
while your letters burn inside my own door,
a ray
in the shadows
for you are mine
on land, sea, and water.
In every part of my soul
in which I falter.
I am yours
but time may change
the air
age may block your stare
but a soul
continues its journey
always beware.

For I am soaked at the park
in the rain
or maybe not
for the lies
should remain
the truths
equally mysterious
so do not ask me
when I write
or why
just stand way back
and watch me in my jeans
as I make a Greek cup of coffee
and all the rest
will never matter.
You will avoid my best
and cease to jest
as I cry on your shoulder
and you place my strand of hair behind my ear.

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