What does this mean? I don’t know.
The geography isn’t known to me
Help me see it
through your eyes
We could walk before the
Light is lost
The round moon rides at
Night noon. Tell me
If the inland sea
Will be the end of us.

I know of indifference
that came with the tide
a birthright
I won’t merit, I’ll
Never earn
Never buy

You say the end
Can’t answer for
The course
It takes
If there is no beginning
No middle.
Whatever may come
At the finish.

The architecture
Isn’t known to me.
Since without your
Confidence residing
In the cellar
In the attic and
Not between
Where it looks
An open mind
Though the dust
Is well settled.
Among the
Talents and skills
Given in glimpses
As you wish or not.

Thankfulness is
Not known to me.
Show me that treasure
worn like a ring
not starkly given
simply appearing,
a virtue unquestioned
and left unremoved
while living.

RLB 12/16/2020

From an open window,
I wanted
Warm air and sun in.
As I wake each morning
Ready to swim
Your suit worn
As though it was skin
The same old thing
You making art
And me hoping for
a word
with a ring.

Time won’t be
banked, moving
as it does, unreined.
And the same
old thing, forgetting
whether you don’t want
this or
don’t know
that you do.
Moving ahead,
a mind grinding its
way through
as it must to
find water below
thick ice without
an augur for spring.

It is for some, a beginning
and others ending
what was and would be
the same
old thing.

rlb 10/2/2020

I ask myself
though there is no answer,
I know.
Of what will bring
me solace.
Not the camellia that
comes with snow
I could not suffer
winter too.
The peony though
brave to risk the spring
misplaced here
with its good fortune.
The rose, no, no,
You un-temperamental,
know no pretense of
a diva.
I need to spare the scotch
Or else be sentimental.
Surely the yellow, then
brown,
I wish for their plain
happiness.
And the good they
left in place.
The sunflower in
van gogh’s vase.

RLB 6 19 2020

I believe they’re n’er
not average
A suburban ranch so
Plain and ordinary.
Belief all should get along
Although they’ve
A wall and across it
A Pretty name
from a French chanson.
Keeping the turmoil
from becoming
what’s normal.
It doesn’t stop a tragedy
A hovering cloud above me.
At times it does not seem right.
But, brighter instead, a boost
Though not true
Has become the light.
The words say the
Storm is passing over
Though it seems having run
Everywhere there is
Finding no cover.
RLB 6-18-2020

As fast and far as you can
before laying flat
On the sand. As certain
As it is possible to be.
Tomorrow and yesterday
Are same as today.
Like the bird in the clock
On the hour you’re loved
On the half you are not.
Wishing to live in a
World I created.
Imagining it was
Not life in the
Time of cholera.

poem RLB 3/2020
image MM 3/2020 (best coronavirus pic around LOL)

We are little demons
hiding over there
look and look and
you will find me
on the stair.
We are little demon
making sure you read

In this momentary panic
comes that eternal
soulful aching
we know will come in
departing moments
left open for the taking

With expiration,
we say our “love you’s”
in throws of passion
and abandon while
hearts implode in some
cursed destructive fashion

i think this is by sara witt, about 2018

No matter how difficult
it should be to lose you in
The muddle of thoughts
And images, tourmaline
So very blue, in
A diamond and
gold band guides
you back to me.
Though the swiftness of
A kiss you gave may be
out of reach,
being chased
as though it was
dust racing away
in a windblast.
In the puzzle that years
produces, I want you
again poised
before the keys
wishing the oracle
followed
The lines in my palm
And promised you’d play
A song of love
but only you and I
would hear.

RLB – 3/10/20