You can't own hearts

All my life I've been searching for pebbles.
Some of them pretty,  some of them plain.
I picked them up all the same.

I'd peer at them and ask
"What are you to me?"
They'd tell me nothing that I wanted to be.

So I'd stick them in my pocket,
Or toss them in the sea
None of them meant very much to me.

Until one day a I found one that caught my eye.
I just had to have that pebble.
Or else I would die.

You can't own him and he can't own you.
Love is about giving, love is about truth.
And the only thing you can keep of any man,
Is the sweetness of his love and the touch of his hand.

So I picked it up.
I held it so tight.
This was the stone for which I would fight.

I took that pebble home
Said that it was mine.
Put it on a pedestal that was so very fine.

But I found that pebbles aren't owned.
(Much to my dismay.)
Or possessed or ruled in any other way.

You can't own her and she can't own you.
Love is about giving, love is about truth.
And the only thing you can keep of any woman born,
Is the sweetness of her love and the touch of her hand.

So she kept me In her pocket
And used me in her way.
Until the day I fit no more and she tossed me away.

That tossing created ripples,
giant waves of pain.
I swore that I'd never pick up pretty pebbles again.

But of course I lied
Because I can never look away
From all the many pebbles that come pebbling my way.

Searching for the special ones
that threaten waves of pain.
To see if it hurts when I hold them again.

You can't own hearts and you can't own souls.
Love is about giving, about becoming whole.
And the only thing you can have of any woman or man,
Is the sweetness of their love and the touch of their hand.

I've loved a lot and I've lost even more.
And the only thing I've learned,
Really the only thing I know. Is...

You can't own hearts and you can't own souls.
Love is about giving, about becoming whole.
And the only thing you can have of any woman or man
Is the sweetness of their love and the touch of their hand.

Yes the only thing I've learned, the only thing I know, 

is that you can't own hearts and you can't own souls.

Hammock Dream

In a hammock side by side,
Head to toe, toe to head
Watching you watching me.
Speaking of hopes, dreams, you.

Touching your foot, ankle, calf.
Your soft, sheathed strength beneath my hand.
You ask a question. I smile: "no".
It doesn't matter where we go.

Anniversary

My dad died a year ago yesterday. Thinking it would weigh hardest on my mother, I made plans to spend my day with her...you know, to help her through it. But she was having none of it. She spent her day busy with her normal activities and then when she came home she went to her room, turned out the lights and laid on my father's side of their bed. I went in and spoke with her for a few minutes until she made it clear that it was time for me to leave. She spent her time that evening with her beloved, shedding tears, talking to him, dreaming of them together, waking and remembering. I was not necessary or wanted.

So I went out with a friend. But after that was over and I was driving home I felt the weight of my father's loss pressing on my soul. So I went home, turned out the lights and like my mother, talked to my dad. And later, when I fell asleep I dreamed of both of them with me, laughing.

I don't believe you lose your loved ones when they die - they just move. As one day we will too.

Surprised

I was surprised by beauty again, today.
Though I did not see you,
nor did I feel the press and warmth of your hand.
You are so very far away.

But the beauty in your voice
and the grace of your spirit
surprised me anew.

I'm not sure why you hold my gaze so.
Except that in a life of tumult and travail,
where no one is certain and nothing lasts,
you seem truer, more constant.

You shine brighter,
piercing the darkness with your spirit.
And surprising me again and again.

I am grateful that here and now I
know you and am known by you.
And in the knowing can be surprised.
And in being surprised, find joy.

Known and Knowing

For my friend.

It is a strange thing to know a person

and stranger still to be known.

Undressing our fears and faltering hopes.

Admitting weakness and selfish intent.

Stripping away all artifice,

all the perfumed unguents with which
we disguise our souls.

To reach out across the chasms that separate us.

Alone in our mountain redoubts, safely dead.

To touch, to grasp, to cling

For to slip is to fall and in falling we are lost.