We use the table
in front of us as common
glances and a love.
Certain shoulders of
blanket whispers not un-said;
the pleasure of reach.
It is a fabric
chair – swirling around the room
when I say “love you”.
It is the gather-
ing of family and trouble
because of family.
In the love series,
there are so many touchings
that reach beyond touch.
* * *
Don’t overlook the mom:
the eyes, the throat, the lightening,
the simple, of course.
The place beside her,
the vases full of flowerings
ripe with thirsty birds.
The sweet between of
the holes and the broken time,
asleep and dreaming.
To go, together,
like we feel each other’s hearts;
the beat in the same.
The things we say and
don’t say, always a better-
than option to do.
The glow on your face
tasting life like we made it
makes me live better.
Do say what we will
or want to say always that
over and over.
* * *
Time in memory
can be magnificent, or
just a beginning.
A spatula me,
spanking all the pancakes that
are still sweet with you.
The smile sun burns
so brightly with your sunrise,
the happy mother.
And so the fresh thing
comes and grows with years gone by,
years like seas: alive.
And I write this book,
finishing with words of love
& close the book like a hug.
"Armand Capanna"
"Armand F. Capanna II"
