December became a fog

Our lives

covered first with baby ideas,

then a struggle

undoing the acceptance

dealing with operations,

recovery, Christmas, fear

and pain.

At times (and still)

I drank too much

trying, I suppose, to find

a return of spirit

ending in the bright realization

of another fog filled day.

Kathy almost died

my parents never showed up

(flowers, their only recognition).

Christmas was a flurry

of last minute accomplishments.

no time for cards, or calm .

January days

flashed at my haze

with snow and ice and healing

Seven paintings on a wall

(not a signature in sight),

39th birthday, handled well.

I do confess

to trying my best,

feeling, giving, not enough.

I went to the record rack

Searching for something to write on.

My hands moving

"To our children’s, children’s, children"

The Moody Blues...

February 24^th, 1985

Sometime late

late in early March

the days of life turned

through a slow crystal winter,

until an early thaw

broke snow into ground.

And we holding slowly (the earth at our feet)

thinking of boats, and sailing

with government money and bonuses.

Plans and schemes

travel our path

through this field, are movements

direction breaks at spring.

These giving’s and time

touch small souls,

whose ideas are covered in things,

and they, in puzzled looks

play the pawns of their mother’s games.

And there's telephones ringing

with trips to ski buses

whose riders break upon me

in rushes of energy (and radios).

Describing incredible runs

down snow covered slopes, and happiness.

It gives me a gladness.

So now -

with, as Joe said.

"Spring all around the edges"

we wait on the next of dreams

looking to smiles, in the warm of spring.

Some time late,

Late in early March.