it was not so long ago —

there was that time -- 
and it was not so long ago -- 

  when rain fell into barrels by our door, 
  when pain was bearable upon that floor, 
  for you and me were linked, and strong, and free, 
  and true was more than price, or liberty. 

and when you felt your shoulder tapped, you went --  
it was your time, you said, and so you served -- 

  but afterthoughts and undertows be damned, 
  we had a dance to dance, a spotlight time: 
  but nothing bought, and nothing we had planned, 
  could comprehend the sentence, or the crime. 

there was that day -- 
and I guess it's been years -- 

  when though we were, you weren't, and that was all, 
  when going through meant me becoming small, 
  for as the rain evaporates by sun, 
  so we the two were destined 

     to be one

In The Absence of Friends…

In the absence of friends, I made a swing, 
And sat and swang, as the seasons changed;
Without any purpose, I dreamed my dreams
Of a life, and a love, and a world without pain

Like a multi-hued waterfall, wondrous and strange,
Where the lone cats wander and wild birds cry --
In the absence of friends, I made a swing,
Then sat and swang, as the world went


A Universe of Discovery

Lying on a blanket 
In their backyard 
With an old pair of binoculars: 
She and her sister, 
Ten and eight, respectively, 
With a book of star maps 
And a flashlight 
And a universe of discovery 
Everywhere around them. 

Under a similar starry sky 
She drives towards her sister's new house 
Way out in the country; 
She and her sister, 
Fifty-eight and fifty-six, respectively, 
With electronics to guide her 
No more looking up at the sky 
For a universe of discovery 
That is made for you 
Is no universe at all


Maybe I'm not a spectacle. 
There's nothing here that is amazing, or astounding: 
I am not the best or brightest, 
Neither the strongest, the fastest, nor best to look at.  

Maybe this is not a historically significant place -- 
Nor a place of current interest or intrigue -- 
Not just the right thing 
At just the right time. 

In a world and an age full of grabbing, 
Whether of attention, or hair, or opportunity, or money, 
I am a being of releasing: 
Of letting go, of setting free. 

None may stop to view such a lack of drama, 
Indeed, I scarcely pay it much mind, myself -- 
Maybe I'm neither all I think I am, 
Nor as little as I fear I've done. 

Maybe I'm not a spectacle, 
But I can honestly be what I genuinely am: 
Used, homely, full of purpose, faulty of execution, 
Closer to the dust than to the cradle. 

For I am neither angel nor demon: 
A digital bard from an age of paper coupons, 
A song no one listens to anymore 
Although there are forty-five hundred versions available. 

There is a genuine you of sinew and heartbeat, 
There is an actual me of skin and breath, 
But without the right dash of cavalcade, 
Do we qualify for real existence?