Bolts:

I think

I could have

swept you 

off your feet

if they 

weren’t

bolted to the floor

and

you’re still 

standing

there

wrench

in hand

fingers

fidgeting

nervously

as though

you still

haven’t

yet decided

whether

to tighten

or loosen

the bolts

Gold:

we wound 

our way 

through 

the midwestern 

woods

sunlight

filtering through

the autumn leaves

golden rays

dancing

among

the branches

the late 

afternoon 

light

playfully 

chasing 

the forest’s

ever moving

shadow

a blanket 

of fallen leaves

keeping

the ground

warm

guarding

it from

the chill

in the

October air

all while

our conversation

wandered

like the trails

and the creek bed

and the wind

wistfully

winding

through the trees

as they moved

politely

out of its way

their leaves

bowing courteously

as it passed by

until we found 

our way

back to our

separate cars

waiting

to take us

down separate roads

to our separate

homes

away from the woods

and their golden

afternoon light

now

I know

that nothing

gold can stay

but gold

is just one color

I would wander

with you 

through 

well lit woods

or

rain soaked 

streets

in the dead of night

or 

the worst 

of winter 

whiteouts

the worth

of the brightest

moments

measured

by the weight

of meaning

imbued in

those

of sorrow

and frustration

and disappointment

the memories

of light

and rain

and snow

entwined

in each minute

we spend together

binding our separate lives

like

the separate 

roads

leading

to our separate

homes 

that always 

meet

somewhere

in the middle

Shapes in the Clouds:

all this time

I’ve been 

afraid

that I was wrong

that you

were just

a change

in the wind

that we

were just

shapes

in the clouds

Tangled:

somehow

you got tangled up

a line

disoriented

askew

looped around

itself

you let someone

pull some strings

you even tugged at a few

now 

your tangle

is all tied up

knots

pulled tight

throughout

and you will likely

never know

for sure

who's hands

are most at fault

a mess of threads

stuffed inside

your heart

out of sight

but never

out of mind

distracted

guarded

and

a bit ashamed

afraid you've

just about

run out of time

your hands

your perfect hands

tracing strands

and picking

at knots

trying to undo 

the damage

racing against

a silent

clock

but that thread

that perfect thread

bunched

tied

knotted

and disheveled

shines bright as day

in the most pleasant hue

its color all that ever

mattered

In the Midwest Twilight:

in between these hills

that stretch out

like a sea

of dirt and leaves

in the valleys

and creek bottoms

in the twilight

nestled neatly

among these trees

there is a magic

lighting

lightning bugs

so they

can speak

in Morse code

to the stars

carrying

the crickets'

serenade

to the moon

ushering

rabbits

safely

from shadow

to shadow

as foxes watch

calmly in the distance

while I

pass by

in the dusk

in the woods

between these hills

outside my front door

Reverse Memories:

when I think of you

I see Thanksgiving dinners

with your family

surrounded by

more food then we

could ever hope to eat

Christmas mornings 

and afternoons

spent leisurely

enjoying the colors

of decorations

and used wrapping paper

torn, wadded 

scattered across

the living room floor

the smells of potpourri

candles

breakfast

and dinner

blending together

with lights lit

for one last time

before they're put away

disgraced

after a week of disuse

Halloween movies in the dark

sitting next to each other

laughing

because it's better than admitting

that we still find children's Halloween movies

unsettling

as we sit a little closer

waiting for the next round of

trick-or-treaters to come to the door

so we can admire their

aspirations, manifested

in costume

on this, the night when they

can become anything

rewarding their

ingenuity

with

compliments and candy

your smile

beaming

as you sit in the pews

wearing your Easter dress

looking forward to the impending

warmth of summer

and to a more immediate

Easter dinner

us 

on Presidents Day

trying to decide
how to spend
our

Presidents Day

Fourth of Julys

Memorial Days

New Years

when I think of you

I see us

together

for all the times

when people choose

people most carefully

together

on holidays

in all of these

memories
in reverse

Bound:

tying these 

feelings to words

is 

the only way I know

to make them 

real

to make them 

tangible

to make them

last