Ray Cicetti is the author of A Forest in His Pocket and has been published in a variety of journals, including, Tiferet, The Stillwater Review and The Platform Review. He has also been a featured poet in various reading series. Ray is also a psychotherapist and senior teacher in the Zen Buddhist tradition. He lives with his wife, Carolyn, in Northern New Jersey.
She stands at the empty bed—
Stares at his shoes by the door.
Smooths his pillow—
Their bedroom now
the size of January.
She remembers the day
in the apple orchard;
how they spoke of
the day’s roundness.
How that night
(Fragrant with love)
they made their promises.
When friends ask how she is,
she tells them she still walks with
him through the unstitched night—
breathes in memories, of his
curled red hair, saxophone voice.
Her heart a whirlpool—
a foreign land
she has no language for.
August Night at Cape Island Creek
— for Carolyn
We sip good wine, taste summer berries,
bend back into memories of love’s
blind persistence that night long ago,
when we laid in our made galaxy
with no before or after.
What sang to us then, still sings to us.
The ocean’s green music cascades
over the meadow’s silence that carries us
beyond our garment of words.
Here we are, entwined like wild vines
beneath the foolish stars.
From here, the outcome looks good.