so many visions fractured, things
i don’t remember making,
ideas formed before
i knew to say, “remember
that you made these.”
lost and broken
so now, the days of aging,
not a super-sleuth or power-broker,
just a group of limitations
smelling like
the summer came too soon.
i see, though, now
that what is not ideal
can still be interesting;
and that where
warm small moments flow
they flow for you and me
so close your eyes, lay back
and let me trace along with fingertips
the outline of
the pressures you have lived,
those long inhabitants
let me release them from your skin,
for though we need not trade the good for bad,
we can accept the good,
when all the moments
just become the one
this moment
for all time
and by these candles
let us turn to smoke
to smoke and water blending
liquid light
that burns and
rises higher
