One hundred twelve brave years have passed since then,

Since “New Colossus” stirred the hearts of men

Who gazed with hope upon our lady’s face,

With promise of the freedom of this place.

Yet now we seek to close our doors to all,

To “huddled masses” answering her call.

False justice seeps from politicians’ pores

To rivers drowning Liberty’s wet roars.

For how can it be just to pass them by,

These homeless thousands, muted in their cry?

When ignorance and fear blind worried eyes,

It’s terror that wins out while justice dies.

Hear, Lady, stifled voices from your shore.

Please lift your torch to light their way once more.

You speak of daydreamed worlds of simple bliss,

Of lips and legs entwined and hearts on fire.

But waking shatters feelings of your kiss

That linger on my mouth from sleep’s desire.

My mind replays our perfect whispered plot,

Your arms wrapped tight to hold me near and warm.

But blankets’ hugs are likened to be bought

With empty coin like whores in knitted form.

I still imagine you next to me

      to help me fall asleep.

My chest burns bittersweet

As I try to remember the

      pressure of your arms

      holding me together

Keeping me from falling to pieces at the thought of losing you.

Harder to bring that feeling back…

Harder to hold myself together

      without your phantom limbs

      and their intangible embrace.

I miss the way you kiss the tip of my nose

That honest look in your eyes.

Phone calls

Late at night

Do nothing for my phantom heart.

Two hundred miles is four hundred miles too far.

And, somehow,

This distance keeps growing.

Dear Night, I love these sleepless nights

When dark winds blow and autumn bites.

A furry friend rests at my feet,

The sweetest thing, a loving treat.

But lambs leer laughter, not one bleat.

My heart, it raps a pounding beat.

As whispers skirt the empty street.

And still the lambs refuse to baa,

Are swallowed by Night’s yawning maw.

And then with slivered eye I saw

The silvered light, Sky’s sickled claw

That etched its shadows in the lawn.

And as I wait for coming dawn

I realize now this morning’s flaw:

The clocks have whisked, the night is gone.

I must have slept, I softly yawn.

Dear Night, we’ll call tonight a draw.