Walking With My Brother

written December, 1983
(on the occasion of a friend’s marriage)

They can be like that,
You know…

Lurking behind veiled glances…
Waiting to lash out and sting
Before being stung.

Words can tumble out without thought
Full of ghosts and hobgoblins,
Preying still on the rawness of past wounds.

And, once out, they won’t be retrieved,
Nor can their sting be
Unstung.

Or, just as easily really,
They can dance to meadow tunes…
Like faeries and butterflies,

Brushing you ever so softly
With their eyelash kisses.