This winter I will share my Coyote Story. But tonight, under the great stars of the desert, I will sleep for the first time in 23 full moons, one year, nine months, and sixty-five days.

Work keeps my mind occupied. Holding back tears cried in the night.

Early evening then requires the facade of functionality-

…prepare the food.

…wipe down the counters

….dance to the tune of a lonely reality.

I could phone a friend,

Or fall off the wagon and drink a pint.

Better yet, paint the town red and white,

or even blue…

Anything to forget,

My heart remains a permanent shade of you.

Each day begins with the hope that I might heal, yet before the sun goes down I replay the sound of your voice,

And remember the playful look in your eyes…

Once more frozen–

Grief’s grip on my broken heart,

Drowning in love’s tortuous lies.

I want to flirt with you and

feel butterflies on the inside.

I want to feel the corners of my lips ache from the way you make me smile.

And for a while–ride the dopamine train you seem to always bring.

How’s that for a rhyme,

My greatest drug of all time?

Open heart
Open wound
I’ve been trying to stop the bleeding
But the thread’s too weak.
The tourniquets I’ve tied won’t hold.
The words I’ve tried….

You called.

You came in,
Sent electricity to my heart
And then you removed it.
Walked out–
Gone dark.

And I’m left lying here on the table unable to move.

My vision stares out at the empty fluorescent, white walls. My eyes glaze over and the familiar objects I once knew become blurred as they lose their shape.

The cold, metal table underneath me becomes my final place.

Cords are still connected, forcing my lungs to breath, but there is no heart, just a temporary machine attempting to pump the blood.

I no longer move.

setting over a ridge, across the fields, she always welcomes you home.

her rays sent to dry your tears and warm your heart.

Oneday we’ll share a kitchen with green painted cabinets and dark stained wood floors.

And we’ll sleep in on Sundays.

Well, maybe you will.

I’ll walk downstairs in my warm, winter socks and make our favorite coffee.

I always will.

As the aromas fill the room, I’ll gaze out the window at the sun shining its first rays on the fresh, fallen snow.

I always will.

And you’ll quietly walk up behind me and put your arms around me from behind.

You always will.

I’ll feel your face and lips bury into my hair and come in near my ear and you’ll whisper–

“Good morning, beautiful love of mine.”

You always will.

And I’ll love you back until there are no more days left on this planet.

And then I’ll love you more– beyond all sense of time and place.

I always will.

Forever.

Would I recall the way we held hands as we walked on our first date?

Would I memorize the sound of your laugh or tone of your voice?

Would you want to wrap your arms around me on a random afternoon?

Would you shift your life even if we had our hearts broken once before?

No.

You wouldn’t.

So, why does the pen of my poem still shift between reality and the dreams of you?

Becoming numb.

Waking up

Checking hope at the door.

Emotions once worn–trained to dissipate like morning fog.

You give a little, yet you take a lot.
You say kind things, but you choose to block.

You say I deserve the best, because the best is what I give.
Then you tell me you’ll do more, yet your lie is how you live.


Breadcrumbs for the birds. That’s all you ever share.
But they’re rotten, green, and moldy, Iike the heart you choose to wear.

Laugh at my devotion– mistake it for desperation.

Curse the N of our name and the Neurotic exaltations, but know this–

It was love.
It was love.

Love will always be my only motivation.

The bursting, pops of red fresh tulips in the shining sun–

A pink glass candle with rivets running along the sides of it–

A new scent of lotion–

That can only mean one thing.

It’s your love potion.