Joel at 58

Fifty-eight birthdays

But, actually: one

This is the only one

That exists

The others have passed

Or have not yet come

And so, this is the only one

That matters

The first one

We celebrate together

Sometimes it seems

So strange

How we found each other

And we are still

Getting to know us

But it is my privilege

To see what is really

Back there

Past the big muscles

And the bigger laugh

The beautiful voice

The handsome face

Behind what you

Show everyone else

It is real

And messy

And true

But also –

Beautiful

And there is weakness

And softness

Love

Pain

Sadness

And fear

But you are wrong

Wrong

If you think

That is it -

That

That is all

There is

Because I have seen

More

Beneath the softness

That hides

Behind your mask

Deep in the middle

In the quiet

In the dark

There is something else

You

The real you

Curled like

A bird

Inside an egg

Sitting like

A prisoner

In solitary

Quietly ticking like

A clock

Waiting

Waiting

And

I see you, in there

I see you

Night Whisper

 

I like to whisper to you

In the middle of the night

Across the mound

Of pillows

And say directly

To your

Subconscious mind

That I love you

I want to believe

It sinks in more deeply

And inoculates you against

Any crazy thing

I may say or do

During the day

That hurts your feelings

Or annoys you

I know it doesn’t

Work that way but

I do it all the same

I figure I could use

The credit

Poets, ironically

Are startlingly clumsy

With spoken words

Everything they think

Comes out in a rush

You could get hit

By a stray thought

Receive a concussion from

A passing feeling

Or be knocked off your feet

By a temporary mood

So I’ll whisper

To you tonight

While you sleep

Or hold your hand

Under the sheets

So tomorrow it will be
Easy to remember

That I love you

The Brightest Edge

You walk with me to
The brightest edge 
Of sleep
Take my hand
And slip with me past
The precipice.
In my dream 
I feel your whisper
Tickle the cup of my ear.
You are so close that
You are looking out
Through my eyes.
Tasting with my lips.
It is your breath
Filling my lungs.
I sigh and it is
Your sigh-
So much deeper
Than my own.
The light fades
On the black horizon
And I smell your scent
All around me.
In the dark you turn
And the pillows shift.
I feel you press against me.
I am suddenly awake
Nerves humming
Sweat beading
Awaiting
What's next.

Bomb

There’s a conversation going

But I can’t hear what’s being said

There’s a warning being given

But I don’t know what it is

Where can I set my feet?

Will a bomb go off on me?

I know sometimes I rub you

Just exactly the wrong way

But it is not on purpose dear

I just don’t know what to say

Where can I set my feet?

Will a bomb go off on me?

These thoughts and fears aren’t helping

I need to find my heart instead

It would be better if both of us

Would just get out of our heads

Where can I set my feet?

Will a bomb go off on me?

The Moth

Notice the moth.

Its dark, shining eyes.

Its hairy, delicate legs.
Its fern-like antennae.

Its furred, dusty wings

Like the negative image

Of a butterfly’s wings.

It is nocturnal.

It finds its

Nourishment

In darkness.

Yet its desire

To seek light

Is so notorious

It is cliché.

It wants what

It cannot have

In safety.

It beats itself

Against the glass

Trying

To get out

To get in

To get somewhere.

We do not know-

Maybe to get out

Of this world.