THE WEAVE:

Moonie rings

U’s doorbell, again.

She waits for U

to answer it…

"What is left
but smokey skies,
and not a Word

to write?  First Fire
of the year, again.  No arms
to hold me.

What kind of man
do I really 
want, an intellectual,

or do I want
a fisherman?   And certainly
not a golfer.  Why

does his mind
bring me comfort,
and does mine do

the same for him?"