Happily Thirsty

I tip the cornucopia of

sound to my mouth

and drink the music

in sonic swallows,

savoring every sip

and drip and greedy gulp,

knowing that I will

never get enough;

grinning all the more,

grateful that the sounds

abound and multiply galore.

I will never get my fill.

That is not a problem,

however, but, rather,

a good old-fashioned thrill.

(It still hurts to see)

It sill hurts to see

your Sure Jell and Lemon Pure

Paste in the pantry.

Paint Blobs and Age Spots

As I have continued to age,

my skin

has increasingly become

a sort of palette

that life

is using

to manifest

all manner

of odd growth,

like a surface 

on which a painter

squeezes blobs of pigment

and paint.

Boxes in the Basement

I'm packing up our dreams

in copy paper boxes and

plastic storage containers --

lighthouse ornaments,

lighthouse tour maps,

and guide books to every

lighthouse along the shores

of Lake Michigan --

and storing them in the basement.

Perhaps one day I will

drop them off at Goodwill.

But for today,

in order to survive the pain,

I must box them up

and put them away.

You left me, our family,

our plans, our goals,

and boxes and boxes

of dreams

behind.