Love, passion, footwear and dental modifications merge for a Vancouver letter-carrier.

A Harlequin-style romance for squirrels.

The tragedy of his wife's condition had been perfectly met by the care and tenderness of her husband. It was a daily lesson for me.

You can give a boy a shoeshine kit but you can't change the fact he's a hunter/gatherer.

In which I am saved from serious injury by an ancestral Calabrian grape-vine.

In which, at long last, I allow myself to cry.

On finding your family, pondering hidden siblings and a tribute to my friend, Ms. Judy Joe.

On a beach in Algeciras, a sister-soul warms the foggy night, saves her dignity and gifts me with the scent of her hair.

Wedding rings, dreams, kokopillau, lightning trees, wanderers and a cotton thread running from ancient Egypt to Early Texas.

If we could actually understand the bond between a man and a woman, we would have destroyed that bond which is rooted in the Mystery.

A poem dedicated to all women.

Word sketches written on paper place mats at a truck stop. -with a humble Irish tip of the hat to J. P. Donleavy

About my first cat, Thermocouple. In time, I learned that cats are not at all like wolves and in fact, they resent the comparison.

A poem dedicated to my grand-daughter, Madison Hawes.

Two poems that are looking into our eyes.

Two poems I wrote to honour my second wife, Mei San, the mother of my first-born son.

A letter to the positive aspects of femininity, which at the time of writing were embodied in a young woman twenty years my junior.

An autist looks at love. Poem by Michael Hawes.