A poem: Home

Because I’m in the enjoyable habit now…

Photograph by John Livzey

Photograph by John Livzey

HOME

I want to jam
on a respite I have
with you, like a good day
driving just to drive,
just itself, home

that hasn’t always been moonlight,
waterfalls and flowers,
a zone where nothing matters
but what’s between us,
made of our eyes

and lust for funky function,
the personal, the original,
reflecting everything,
nothing. I remember a day
way back, nun’s lodgings,

a house coming up,
a someday movie
in my mind, hopes falling like stars
since someday never comes,
and yet we know this story:

we changed our lives
and banked on time
then, and so far, for nothing
but everything,
and we’re living there.

— Teresa Young

No need for answers

Photograph by John Livzey

Photograph by John Livzey

NO NEED FOR ANSWERS

What is that essence
in you and me
that makes us us,
cards aligned
in so many—enough—ways,
and attraction still and always
trumping all other plays?

That mystery,
mutuality in duality,
complementary capacities
for quiet, chocolate,
guts and feeling all entwined
with a know thyself vibe
and room for life-and-death rants—
but just once in a while.

And do signs of lush secrets
stoke other hungry players,
or start quiet bets
on future losses?
I just know I found
the key to so much
and the best in so many
when I found you,
and that’s enough winning
today, with you
with me.

napowrimo

Confection

Photograph by John Livzey

Photograph by John Livzey

Go! For all we know
life’s a cosmic trifle,
profiteroles of beingness
in which we-ingness
have the privilege of,

well, who knows?
So. To have and to hold,
to be or not to be,
to sir with love, it’s you
I’ve been dreaming of.

Oh, and for all we know
the joke’s on us, though
time is on our side
and ride, Sally, ride.
Sweet. And incomplete.

napowrimo