We worked in an area where people forgot and were forgotten.
I recognized her. She and her husband used to frequent the pub. Mary always looked a little dower sad or mad; I couldn't put my finger on it. Her husband died and she claimed the look of loss and disconnect on her face, and the way she walked. Now she sat alone by the window, wheelchair binding her.

I approached and made my greeting, and as she didn’t remember me now she smiled and told me she was waiting for her son. She asked me then if I was her son. When I said I wasn't she smiled and said that he would be there soon to visit. She started singing in Gaelic then, for that is how they spoke many years ago.

I imagined that she was in fields or at the stove in the fall putting up preserves getting ready for winter. For this was my romance or protection.

But then, just then, she was smiling and singing low and sweet.
She was in joy, in that moment.

sand holds the buoy
now in its void
but for two rocks secure.
the straight orange pulled taught as if still
trap and tide
to fish.
it will fish no more
except in poetry.
will change with wind and sea
harsh winter
summer glare
again
again
so close to the sea.
will always be close
to the sea.
and die at oceans edge,
reborn under
great fathoms.

i to
privy
this
transform
rapid spurt
of eyes
brighter love
clarity
and fly,
landing
dance steps
jump
glide
stride
jump Jump JUMP
swim in
liquid surrounding
sockets

I am struck
With our words.
How they blend
Bend
Into universe worlds
Containing
Mere dust particles
Of knowledge.
And macro plant-life
Survival
The smallest of buds pushing
Catastrophic propulsion-
Around us
Images evoke
Words evoke images
Evoke dreams
And images and words
of.

When you touch my arm
Oxygen fills my lungs
when you look into my eyes
I see fields and trees and the oceans
Making love.
And when you are not there
'the heart just stops.'
And when i type at this desk with one leg shorter
I picture your face as i write shaky words
Not quite what i mean,
But you get it.
You know me by now.

i will be small today and careless
small in the big world
and abandon to it
as i sing the whole day through.
the water drips from the roof
and in each drop is your face
one smiling one crying
one writing
one walking and on.

the laundry hung by the stove
with Santa Maria burning,
we lay together.
those hard Irish chords
filling room after room. Buddy scratching my feet.
when rain just turns to snow and back again
we write
about the day
and Christmas is "all that".
and i get it and it doesn't matter
about this day other then it is a day.
special only in how we make it.
so small i'll be and sponge-like.
dadadada da dadadada da da
and strings and a choir
with tears of a melody
as drops from the roof
with bright blue eyes
looking back.

We had supper and there was fire outside to sit by. The sparks shot high leading to a translucent quarter moon. It was warm with rain and snow on my bald head refreshing. I leaned against a tree and thought you leaning against me, my hands around your waist. The fired died out and was time for pie. I excused myself grateful for the evening and came home with hugs and kisses in my pocket.
My evening, Christmas Eve with you.