that drive home

that sunday, long ago 
we were young and hopeful
we were friends, good friends 
on that edge, that border,
that wonderous crazy edge
of you know...

we were with a group
driving home
driving home from our
weekend of armenian
education and music
and dancing

six of us driving home
we were in the back seat
you in the middle and
i by the window

who else was in the car
it mattered not then
it matters less now
what mattered was you
and me sitting next to you
talking on that beautiful 
long drive home 

we talked about...
whatever we talked about
we talked and enjoyed
and tired, we fell asleep
drifted off...

i was asleep, blissful
until i felt you lean into me
your head on my shoulder
and then... i was 
blissfully awake

i felt special
the smell of you, your hair
your gentle breathing
for an hour

for that hour the world
my place in that world
was perfect
and all right and good
on that drive home

alternative explanations

two words on a white board
two words in black, all caps, 
underlined in emphasis 
and... nada, zip, bupkis, zilch
nothing underneath
    kinda existential, sophomoric,
    maybe even philosophical

ok, i might understand that
there just were no alternatives 
but...
    what was the question?
    what was the explanation for
    which there were no alternatives?
    was it deeper than deep?
    all about life, love, god, souls, 
    and what happens in death?
    consciousness and being? 
    hope and hopelessness?
    or something more mundane?

maybe, just maybe, 
it was just a joke
a clever academic joke
to taunt and tease with an
unanswerable questions
    the way that can be named
    or explained, is not the true way
    and there are...
    no alternatives 

этюд два

bundled, scarf swaddled,
gloved and coated heavy
trekking in the dark dawn
of these shorter days...
the crunch of snow and
ice underfoot the frost 
of breath in iced air

embracing a frozen poetic
yuri andreievichy kinda day
casting you as my reluctant
larrisa fyordorovna