another way

“You have been to Rio.”
I am looking at her scarf.

“You are a Whovian.
She is looking at my backpack.

We try to add meaning
while standing in line waiting for ice-cream.
Seize the day, an unstructured theme
but there is another way
unlike just selecting a fruit flavor,
a genuine space for exploration.

Between licks and bites
we exchange pages of memoirs
binocular for camera,
puzzle solving for origami.
We become a book club of two,
children again, playing a see-saw.

We reach the ends of the cones
We have to say goodbye.

“You live so far away.”
“Space-time should be the least of your finalities.”

We have moments of laughter and regrets
and lasting impressions.
We promise to leave the lights on
and door unlocked.

when in love

Does one make bad decision when one is in love
or if one is in Paris?

Is it true?

note: I just finished reading a book, I’ll See You in Paris ,by Michelle Gable. Different threads of a tapestry of interlocking stories based on a real life story. Entertaining, lots of surprises.

living the question

A leaf falls on the pond,
creates a circle and multiplies
in ever widening circle
I have seen it once or many times before ,
always seems surprising in freshness and clarity
a tiny wave, minuscule or a huge
one, a surfer’s temple.

But what’s a wave, someone asks,
it’s not water, it’s in the water, scientists
say, it’s a phenomenon,unlike an armadillo.

My life’s ascent to bed to rest
and wake to descend to my vicissitudes:
plural hours of pain and dark nights,
the fragility and reversal of remission,
the struggle to hold and throw a bocce ball,
the pauses after every aisle, pushing a grocery
cart, are real not imagined, like an armadillo.

I can’t strip them away. Lucidly
stubborn, I try to resist and should not.
Deep in I have to endure.

note: This a revision or expansion of what I wrote on August 8.