SUNDAY NIGHT...

Today I attended another one of the little get-togethers our gay social group holds. Our hosts were new to me, and by far the most appealing people I have met so far. But what stayed with me after the event, aside from the indelible contrast between their fairly incredible home and my Weird Little House, was the fact that everyone was either coupled or elderly. And I, while feeling older every day some weeks, knew in my bones that I was neither.

I was, however, on returning home and turning the lock on the front door, simply overwhelmed by my loneliness. It was not a question of desire, although that too has times of unbearable presence, but simply the need for another heart, another head, another soul -- companionship. Everything, in short, I had aplenty just one short year ago -- a year, I say, just to avoid quibbling about how many months ago things began to finally fall apart. So to all who remarked on my cheerfulness, here is the shadow side of my new disconnection to my old life, my long-held love, my old and late, lamented home.

The following may not qualify as art, but it speaks from the "abundance of the heart."

My throat choked with desire, I make my bed --
Two pillows for one lost and lonely head.
Let me seek rest here and submerge at last
In dreams of joy to come, of comfort past,
Of any state less desolate than this,
Of any sign of love -- a hug, a kiss,
Embraces, gentle murmurs, tender touch --
Who knew such little things could mean so much?
I knew, of course, but had not lived without
So long, my narrow knowledge knew no doubt.
But now I feel afresh how much they mean
For hope of them is hope of things unseen.

Oh, let my soul take flight and homing bring
A hand, a heart, a soul, to make mine sing.