What paper and pen I use
Does not matter,

What diction I use and style I write in
Does not matter,

Whether or not my words are ever written
Does not matter,

For ink will eventually dry,
And paper will burn,
Even words are eventually forgotten,
It is true,
No matter what you say of legends and thinkers,
The words of those who sought immortality,
Will eventually fade,

And what matters most in verse
I will never understand,

And I shall continue not to write
But to feel,

did she tremble as the stag horns burst through
icy, untouchable
pointing judgments of
the poet as housemaid
the laureate academic
collecting a pulitzer for his first dead wife's work
His best friend and true wife stood seven years
before ground sleeping pills and a gas oven
ate the air, the daughter too.....mouth open lips purple blue
did you get him back? He married a year later
Assia the Lilith of this tale.

I wonder

if in afterlife are you in tornado caterwaul with Sylvia

Floaters

By RW

Brief lightning

Halogen flash of feeling

too soon gone

not even an odor lingering

just moments made less savory

by rapid passage

Now I see spots

and the darkness is no longer comfortable

You kept me hidden in your heart
As we constructed our love, our art
We were dreamers and lovers, fighters and spies
But I remember once you awoke from a dream
You looked so deep into my eyes
Pulling me closer you said in my ear, “I am home”