  " Thinking,  tangling,  shadows"  as it translates in English is one of my favorite Neruda poems.  I have been rather pensive today-
not withdrawn,  just thinking about my life.  I am so happy that my life is MY LIFE,  and I am not at all envious of another life.  And I know that life can be complicated,  but you know what,
 it is my deal here.  I just can't be cynical about life.  I love it!  Hah!  When I was talking with K over dinner he kept saying,  "
Life is hard,  and my students will come to understand that!  Or something to that effect.  Thank God,  I teach non traditional college students;  yes,
 I leave my students to debate the cruelty,  and relative ease of life in writing.  I only desire that they write something interesting,  and when they come to my class,  they leave all bad mojo out the door!  But K kept talking about suffering.
 Who doesn't suffer in life?  Yes indeed as Shakespeare put in the mouth of Romeo:  " He jests at scars that never felt a wound.  I can think about my sufferings;  And it's really ok.
 Despite my bitter wounds,  my life is so,  so,  good!  Hah!  I just can't share his reality of angst!
 I should have said to him,  " PLEASE,  just get OFF the CROSS!  The mutual and I conversed this morning.  I just wanted to hear from a voice away what K thought of the work.
 Funny thing,  K barely said a word to him.  K told the mutual, it looks pretty good!  And that was that!  You're damn right it was "
pretty good!  I suppose he does feel threatened by me- hah!  Or maybe that's just my vanity!  Either way,  I've yet to get a message from K!
 But I'm really not expecting it either!  Since I was having this EB relapse brought on by the amazing and gentle K, notice my sarcasm?  I thought I'd put up some poems.  Only the first poem is new;  I wrote it about a month ago.
 The others were written about three or so years ago.  ~ For just one day,  Beneath a white sheet and a thick blanket,  watching the sun uncover the Sandia Crest,  Your strong man legs wrapped around my legs,
 all quiet,  all calm,  hearing you breathe when we sip fresh coffee,  What I would give for just one day-  A day made for whispers and laughter where You would take my hands to your mouth,  kiss my fingers,
 and utter,  " I love you,  I love you!  If I had only a day,  A day like that where you touch my eyes with your eyes,
 my splintered heart finding its way into yours,  A day made for soft words,  where you tell me of your day before,  where I tell you of the night before,  where we just remember like the scent of coffee,  like day after a rainy day,
 You speak,  I hear I hear you whisper my name,  You whisper " history,  Neruda,  anarchy,
 or chickadee,  It doesn't matter,  To hear only your voice,  my laugh,  your laugh,  to feel,
 to see,  to know today your fingers roam through my curly hair,  as my nails gently brush your forearm,  and in broad daylight you You toss the blanket over our heads,  surely on such a day,  we would know we would remember then,
 we both would know,  know what it is to love again.  ~ Deluge I want to think of you as rain now,  like July rain quenching Albuquerque,  spilling on UNM or TV-
I.  I just want to think of you as rain,  not as a shattered word in a broken glass,  or a bitter glaze in rancid milk,  Love I want to hear you like I listen to the rain,  if just to hear you say,
 " Baseball,  Putumayo,  a Trotsky dream,  if the stars were French,  if only you'd say my name if only you'd come to me,
 Overdue kisses would flood infectious glances,  Black clouds could gather our parched souls,  tears in dusty arroyos,  the water would be here,  with lightning,  with healing,
 rushing,  it all would appear,  fresh mud in Tijeras and thickness of love.  ~ What Love Is~  If you ask me what love is,
 I can only tell you of waves that die at their peak,  of a trail of sand lost to the wind,  and the wail of seagulls.  If you ask me If I know how to love,  perhaps I could answer,  with the grin of a flirt in denial,
 and with what happens in a cafeteria after a history class,  or with hands that reach through you like air,  like water,  Oh,  I understand how love is:  even the solitude of an oceanic sunset makes me weep,
 One cannot look into the face of love and easily forget.  These last two poems are together;  they are loss &  hope.  ~ You say we all have a story to tell:
 It snowed the day after Christmas in Albuquerque,  but nobody nobody saw us making our way past the soaking luminarias with the dogs.  There were no ears that heard us laughing as we waited in line for our coffee and Frontier roll.  No,  there wasn't anyone to see us running the north golf course at sunset,  or unfolding your picnic of fresh fruits,
 a baguette,  and wine in Hidden Park No one saw our hungry kisses in the corridor of Nob Hill Center today,  No one saw you greedily reach for my hand as we crossed Central into the book store,  You did not read Neruda to me in Spanish,  we did not talk about Peru,  Colombia,
 You will not tell me you love me today,  or that I feel like home to you,  But what does it matter?  I do not live in New Mexico,  And I have no story to tell,  Perhaps I will not even hear you say my name again,
 You are probably with someone else,  kissing her as you couple her face with both of your hands,  Your eyes look at her Your eyes see only her ~ If love is love,  then tonight I have to believe,  believe for instance,
 that New Mexico watermelon sunsets and the twilight of the back road to Taos will be ours.  Someone will hear our Lab barking in the back of of your vintage truck.  Someone will shush us in the movie theater,  There will be inside jokes,  bike rides in Mexico,  squabbling over the words of Mario Vargas Llosa,
 and thoughts on Shakespeare's depths,  There will be innocuous lies-  covering your loss of hair,  my weight gain,  your white bell bottoms,  my cooking,
 There will be long nights filled with swollen kisses-  And a morning will come It must be so,  You will fold your arms around my waist,  hide your face in my hair and say,  " You smell just like a good cup of coffee!
