…at morning, I’m unruffled – I’ll sit with my tea and Muse Cat beside me and listen to the soft chime of the grandfather clock…

…I pray this winter be gentle and kind – a season of rest from the wheel of the mind…

… you are lovely – God has painted every feature of your soul …

I am your stone of necessity calling up spirits from rain puddles—your Magus of words

…you go back to liberate the captives and sadly realize, some want to remain tied down in the cave…

RedheadAll over the houseStrands of copper hairLike filaments from a cobwebCollect.If you and IWere ever to part— For months, perhaps years,I’d be combing out,Brushing or picking upStrands of significance,Traces of youIn my life

…the most beautiful things don’t always make you happy – often they make you weep…

I am in love with the stars of night – I have made them audible…

…I’m not afraid of the opinions of others – but of being needed and coming up short …

…we’ve let go of so many things, but never each other’s hand …

…what else would a poet priest do on an endless night, but write of love?…

…at some point we must achieve our identity -we can’t be always in adolescence seeking who we are…

…you can use words if you wish, but I’m warning you – I’ve learned how to read your heart …

…art is weaker than life – in the end I have a bag of letters to scrabble into order – rune tiles to cast my fate…

…my novels are like life – I never know where they’re going until I get to the end…

…you want the sweetness of our beginning without the bitterness of our struggle – what are you asking – do you want light without shadow? …

…I always thought youth were idealists – now, I’m not so sure – I’m more idealistic now then at 17…

…we have entertained ourselves with the pornography of violence and inflamed passions that might otherwise have slumbered…

…today there are bars of light on the rug, but Muse Cat prefers his tomato box where he can dream in private…

…winter crescent resting in the high pine bough – you fly through the woods like a lone snow bird…

…Neruda was right about all mysterious women – The moon lives in the lining of their skin…

A heart never breaks in the same pattern of pieces

…don’t you realize a flawless profile means nothing when a mere smile drives me to desperation? Don’t you covet that power?..

…if you always move in certainty, your writing will be flat – creativity is a rugged terrain…

you are the mysterious fire at my finger tips

…the feelings that pass between us are deeper than fleshly touches…

our hearts break, and take us out of relationships that are too painful for us

…you found me in my lonely labyrinth and like Beatrice, led me out of my own hell…

…you knew I was confused, tormented, but you enticed me – led me on…

…I’m a modern mountebank – I believe in Physiognomy – after all, we are in control of our face – it’s the map of where we’ve been…

…I looked in the window, wanting to stay – it rained, yet I remained…because you were so lovely…

…careful the morning lest it wake from slumber the city half-encumbered by the morning mist …

…some people won’t even own a dog for fear it will die – you can’t bubble-wrap your heart…

…in my dream the shadings of your soul are the dark tincture of rain…

…we use intimacy to refer to the physical when it really pertains to the spiritual ..

…it’s always somebody’s fault – I blame you for my helpless love – do you think I chose this? Your beauty compelled me…

…we live in the same city but don’t see the same things – you see buildings and I see memories…

Your steady rain of words soaked me to the skin

…I can’t grasp the stars, but I love them – in the same way, I love you…

…I’ve marked our sacred place not with stones – I’ve put it my art to keep it safe…

…did you know that in your eyes there are bright flecks of green and orange – and that they are lovely?…

…I guess you’re right – I am a priest – I offer sacrifices – so take this line, I want you to have something of mine…

…you have changed everything for me- you rearranged the furniture and now you’ve changed the view from my window!…

…my heart rides the wind and my thoughts sail away – to a land below the horizon where I know you hide from me…

…when you’re hard and unyielding your words score me with lines – I hate lines – I want curves – curves are happy like a snowman …

…you fantasize about me reading my poems to you – it doesn’t work that way – I write down everything later – living is not an after-thought…

…I will find once again the light of your beauty – your colored windows in the night…

… this longing inside me that never goes away, must be a poem…must be you …

you know the way of the wind in the night—the desolate alleys my soul takes

…you can’t be intimate unless you’re sensitive…