Love Poem

There are times

when all glory is dead,

when magnificence sits shriveled in the corner

whimpering sad laments,

when Would Be

and Could Be

and Should Be

disappear suddenly into the great Are Not,

and I am left all alone

with just plain me.

It’s like evening

when the brilliant sunset loses its shine,

when all color drains out of the sky

leaving the sky gray,

the trees gray,

the birds gray,

the soul a pile of ashes

caught again by surprise,

unprepared.

Everyone loves a good sunset.

But with you I can sit still

and let my gray evening eyes

meander slowly home.

My most self-loving voice

speaks from your face

standing gently in the doorway:

Come in from the cold evening,

it’s time to be home.