PEAR Genetics surely have a role to play, But Nature versus Nurture is a ploy To obviate the questions that pertain To searching for the future in the past. “What’s past is prologue,” someone said. And I care less who said it — but to whom has piqued my fancy more than interest, Can deja vu be fashionably undressed? Whoever said it surely had a point, But why waste time engaging in a lark Unless there is a moral that I missed. The future loves to keep us in the dark.

ICR You placed your hand on my head. I fell to your chest and we slept for the first time in months. I didn’t know before my lips hit your ribs that I’d be staying there til morning and thats not the first time I’m surprised at something like that. The chill of the wind blew through the bay window curtains revealing our view from our room and the outside space that’s ours as the breath from your dreams spoke in movements of sheets from the air you did everything to give me.

PJR When I was young, and my father Who is and was naturally inclined to and Still wanted to teach kids something, He took me to a colleagues for some Slides. I spent the whole time waiting for the Reason I thought to wear shorts for The water. …

PEAR Her hair was not on fire But the sulphur swamped the mind Regardless And even gentle mists May saturate the mood With toxins. So when a clump of stubborn threads Affixed its sticky self To pant legs What else could terror do But flee an All-Star recluse Brown, of course At least three laps around The living room…

ICR Whatever it is, and I know this might be one of those everyone things, I think the whole of it comes down to what crosses between senses. Like to one day run out of the things I say that I’ve never thought what they should sound like because dirt of it floats in the droplets of the edges my lips and the petals of these words are reaching up to the sun to let me know they need no more than I have given. But would I even know what that sounds like. The smell of my summer grill and friends and the words and their sounds of them would I even know what that feels like to know what it looks like the water in them also rising to the edges of their mouths and thats good for the words and with them the flowers they’ll grow and the music they’ll make with them. The after of wondering whatever it’s that we crave to know whole of, like the heat and hunger between the first time two palms fall in love and the volume what that looks like.

PEAR Precise coordinates do not exist in space. The place I seek is sensitive to Time. And non-compliant with geography. I want to have you see what’s in my mind. I’d love to see my grandchild[ren] crouch Behind the plate or at the midfield X - I will be giddy with whomever’s…

PJR We packed the car the same But this time you were more. The Bags stuffed haphazardly into the trunk And underfoot. I took your sweater off Since it was hot and stuffy in the car And anyway your have your stuffy Under arm. And were greeted by Thousands of tiny bezels; you Melted into the angles of my elbows And dropped Elmo between the seats. I’ll pack the car again. Like this time, But I don’t know what I’ll need then. Not yet. The trick is, I’ll tell you, the Things you don’t remember to pack Are the things you don’t need. But That’s a lie. I’ll try to keep the sappier Ones fewer and further between. I try to keep the sleep you get the same. But that’s not how the universe alots. I don’t know how it might affect you then, But I’ll read bones, and I’ll connect the dots

PEAR I see my mother fondly now - Since rude, uncivil visitors who lived Inside our heads, Have taken leave of sentences And senses too of dread. The fog of condescension lifts – Once airing grief has lost its steam Exasperation mists Throughout the distant afternoons Where reminiscence sits. I like to think that Time won’t march - For Mom has gone to her reward To find her just desserts – Like Autumn Woodland, Apie cake And jitterbugs where nothing hurts. I hope that other fractures heal. As family ties have slipped their ‘nots’

PEAR When seconds click off silently, We rarely mark the time. And hours slip by quietly - A theft without a crime. Then suddenly the years add up Before we catch our breath, And we can feel the heaviness And count ourselves bereft. The laughs we shared so long ago Are ringing out like bells, Reverberating constantly Where gratitude still dwells. We hope to hear the friendly tunes Stay fresh within our souls To have our happy thoughts remain As young as we are old.