When I wrote this piece, I had returned to New York from my first visit to Virginia, less than one week home.  Torn in two, yet mending in ways I could not then label nor identify.

Today, four years on, we are a “we”; not distanced by separation nor divorce, space nor inconvenience, fear nor longing – though the latter two often the worst of things to feel.  I could go days alone were there little to anticipate.  It was not easy and, honestly, I worried about failing.

Anyway, my head was these words. My heart, too.  They’re still there, happily.

Poem for Bob.

You and I have grown past love

the way a child grows past a sweater 

or wears down the heels of rainy season rubber boots
You and I have fished for love 

the way a ‘coon paws murky ponds, half in/half out

in shameless hunkered stupor

grasping at anything

-anyone-

to fill the void and ease
I and maybe you have beat the horses dead

yet cheered their ribboned finishes

then stood ‘lone at the gate awaiting the purse…

(were you, too, surprised it was empty?)
I and possibly you breathless crossed-fingered hoped

once would be ever and all ways. 

You twice

Me once

(I respect the believer in you and honor the fear in me)
into tidal waters

through summer tall grass

‘tween the forest treespace

to swim in quarry and inquiry 

you and I ne’er shall meet 

pumpkin and pine
for whilst you dream and forge

I unriddle ’round dead horses running

unwinable races
You and you

I and I

have comingled and exhaled

and poured and refilled

buttonhole songs of our own undoing
more than unravel again

we mend

together

testing the ice

complete tentative ironclad tissue

to grow past now

renewed

-DJD