To Bridge Across

To bridge across an empty space
They made the wood and metal one;
In years before the years before
The living business still got done —

The dying business, too. We know
And yet we don’t, although it’s clear
We’re only where we are for those
Whose lives and deeds had disappeared

A while before the ones we knew.
They built our stories, and our trails;
They dwell within our living ways,
In half-remembered words and tales

That try to bridge from them to us.
A bridge that’s now in disrepair;
But how do you reach what matters when
Your own foundation isn’t really there?

this weight my soul

this weight my soul
it reaches helplessly
for thought for role
for ease for urgency

and though in still
after the cooling rains
the restless will
rejoinders and remains

this weight my soul
comes evening to attest
in part or whole
for better or for best

connections lost
mid atrophy and troll
the too-great cost
direction seeking goal

 all mixed and tossed

 this weight

 my soul

In Loving Time

In loving time,
we find again that circumstance
can fool the mind;
the heart that follows, wondering
where all it ends.
The all that is in each of us —
it’s true, my friends.

In loving, time
becomes that thing, both meaningless
and precious, true —
what all there is, and was,
that matters; what to do
when ruptures happen everyday
and vainly, we seek signs.

Out in the hills,
a meadow green that’s rarely seen,
much like the heart of love that hides
mid concrete walls;
and yet, it’s worth the trip

the trouble, and

the climb

to spend the minutes that we have

in loving time