http://www.futurecycle.org/SimiryanBio.aspxhttp://www.futurecycle.org/Simiryan1.aspxPoem <h1>An Old Man’s Kiss</h1> <h3>Sometimes our light goes out, but is blown into flame by another human being. Each of us owes deepest thanks to those who have rekindled this light.<br /> —Albert Schweitzer</h3>He pauses at the window.<br /> The neighbor’s lawn has turned to honey.<br /> Dry, fragile sticks pierce boards and sidewalk,<br /> blossoming smoother than anything else<br /> he’s thought about recently.<br /> What is there left to appreciate?<br /> His wife joins him like a quick storm,<br /> her words reinventing efficiency once again…<br /> <span style="font-style: italic;">“Oh. It’s fall, it will look<br /> cute, lavish in spring.”</span><br /> Oatmeal boils from the pan to the stove.<br /> It’s song sticks forever,<br /> the way his wife departs,<br /> tenacious, determined to return.<br /> How is it women make weeds green<br /> when they should be brown scars,<br /> or think a moon, the size of a fingernail,<br /> floating at dusk begets abundance?<br /> He waits for little sounds:<br /> eggshells falling on tile,<br /> something to start; something to finish,<br /> inseparable—barley worth hearing<br /> like happiness, and all<br /> the other shadows<br /> he’s sewn into old seeds.<br /> Mon, 13 Apr 2009 00:00:00 GMT