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 … Continue reading "To Bridge Across"
I was the young one, They were the giants; Laughing across dinner tables, Looking down at me through Glowing wrinkled faces; I was a marvel to them, they said, And I believed them, All my superpowers on display, As off I went on still Another adventure. Now I am The old one, Looking out at … Continue reading "Giants"
In spring, you feel the newness of it all. Each feeling is a flower, fresh, unique; Like love or loneliness, each one is pure, And beauty of discovery hangs round The edges of the garden path that leads To who you want to be and where and how — In spring, you feel the newness … Continue reading "Seasons"
Do good things come to those who wait? Or do they waste their days And months and years in wishing For the slightest of displays That what they hope for might come true? It’s hard to make a rule — That one could then encapsulate To teach at home or school. But this — this … Continue reading "This One Idea"
a love a business long forgotten many tables many lips the world is made of failure and the landscape of arrangements few will see and even sooner lost forgotten
There was a final time: the stall set out, With jewelry and fabrics in a line — The next day, and thereafter then, no more; No more, and soon, no one with memory To paint in images or words the scene That once was daily, year on year on year. The mundane, the quotidian: our … Continue reading "Snapshot: On Finding An Abandoned Stall in the Desert (Revised)"
I woke. My people turned to trees. Then wondered, if I had the chance Could I, too, with the cold winds learn to dance? It is the grove that gives us life. The sun, the soil that we share, The tears of those who watch o’erhead, their left-by mulch, subconsciously aware — … Continue reading "The Grove"
I sat and watched the burning ones. They came in twos and threes: The night was their intoxicant, And ardor, their disease — I see them, too, in memory, They’re everywhere about — For when you are a burning one, You’re destined to Go out
Here is the end of all of this: most of us, one day, will lie in a room where the shadows grow, with memories crowded out by pain, knowing, only then, why we lit so many fires… Just to keep these very shadows at bay. … Continue reading "… the end of all of this"