She is love

She is love, and that’s why

I married her.

Thirty-five years ago.

Everything about her is love and so

I noticed her,

and I thought:

She is not like me; she

makes up the difference between

me and every other damned thing

in the world.

How many mornings, at work, have I wondered

who am I? and how

did I get here

in this place in life. And then,

she brings me all the way across

an ocean and

an old continent,


to wake up

on a sunny morning in Athens

to this:


Like I said, she is

all about love.


Glass half-Full

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