We approach the future as we do
this deep fog: hopeful but still
watching for shit between steps
in the still sleeping field You suggest
we walk towards the sun but I plan
on a long journey & don’t want to walk
in circles Instead we hold the light
dear as it clears the mist ahead
The field melts into a path of thistle-
kissed sun-dipped clarity
so we skip clean-shoed through the day.
I lost myself in discovery,
the crushing essence of a
I haven’t worn
since the funeral. I’ve practiced
the craft of nodding
small talk since, though
it fits as well as
that old jacket. Some things
I have no trouble throwing
out, while others cling
like a dryer sheet
waiting to tumble from a shift sleeve.
The program from
the memorial is still
in the inside breast pocket & I’m still
a pall bearer struggling
to carry the load while
the powder blue jacket hides in the back
but not forgotten.
And after forever the gin-flavored breeze
remains like a tonic
caught in the wind & blown miles
bath water salty from the tide
coming in, then out
collapses on us both and stars
like beer-battered fish leap into Milky Way sauces.
In all the universe I chose my way
but did not see her coming
to make a new world of ocean-swept
the smell of coffee fireworks pop
an alarm shatters the dark alerting
us to tides turning abruptly
the first sound
I’ve understood now sings in unison always.
She casually showed me her crystal ball
but said the future is uncertain —
creamy mist running in disorganized patterns
to places out of focus. Sunlight filters through
translucent spirits beyond the horizon,
a glassy wind-swept silence on my elbow
& she wearing a medium t-shirt.
Every soul glitters in a palpable pattern
if you have the patience to look. She can look
past my sins, beyond this body & its base
elements down to the light that shines loud
patterns beckon the future come in its own time.
She traces my luster in the globe, my aura reflected
in her witch’s eye, tomorrow’s haze evaporated.
The rain drums on my umbrellawith a cadence I don’t recognize stealing the quiet rattling fallen leaves with lyrics written in clouds dripping rhythmically in rowsbeneath the evergreen. The green seems to arguewith the browns wrapped over the ground crunching underfoot quieter now or perhaps drowned outbeneath the drums. And still I feel like singing alongwith the melody, those notes ofContinue reading “Two drum beats”
This season demands so much
attention it has two names,
as if we could ignore Autumn
without the Fall. October fans
its leaves in vanity, colorfully spread
like a peacock posing
for photographs. The wind whistles
through them as if
it does us a favor. We’re listening.
The sun lazes low in the sky, refusing to climb
higher, taunting us with tantalizing heat
evaporating in the atmosphere
just beyond our reach.
The leaves eat the grass in November
swallow the ground completely
until all I hear is the chewing
underfoot. The wind blows silent through
pursed lips, impotent
in the cacophony crunching colorfully
under marching feet pressing
towards December and the frost.
No matter how proud the season it must give
way to the next, one generation follows
another thinking it knows better
& it always Falls the same.
You smuggled a spreadsheet into the Christmas party
and sat in the corner while the host
served greetings from a -moon-rock-colored- platter,
decorative holly garnish threatening to devour
a pockmarked planet
You said the numbers didn’t add up
so I reviewed your every cell until we were both satisfied
Mercury the messenger carries the one
around the sun
we make a silent night of the party.