The ones I love,
and have been
blessed to keep,
are sleeping
as night’s low
pitch hums slowly
fades.
I walk along the lake
with only the birds
to keep me company.
The clouds sticky,
but devoid
of cotton candy,
offer no sweetness.
I move through stony colors,
a stillness in my
soul.
The water churns,
dark froth travels
in its wake.
I cry for some
inexplicable reason.
Through my tears,
I stare out into
the silence,
and think of those
who make me the happiest.
And then I wonder
about those
who have come
and gone.
The ones I have lost,
lost loves, lost friends,
a litany of history.
Memories reclaim
me for a moment.
Has life carried
them where they
want to be?
Does the dusty world
ever taunt them, too?
Do they ever
wonder why time
offers no explanation
for grief and regret?
Do they ever weep
because whatever
we’re made of,
we can never alter
the ticking clock’s
hands.
I hope that there’s
a table set somewhere
for them, and morning kisses
to greet them.
The past opens quickly,
but recedes just as
fast.
I pick a dying
wild flower from its
sidewalk home,
just as a boat
heads off into the gray,
brushed stroke
of the mist.
A lone crow
plummets toward it,
like granite.
The first faint orange
spot appears in the
sky.
Lifting my chin to the sun,
to brightness.
I discard the unbreathable,
dizzy smell of nostalgia.
I bathe in the now,
and wash my soul
in today’s syllables
Thankful for what was,
but even more grateful
for those that remain
I know without them,
the air would taste
like nothingness.
Standing on the bridge
in the space between
yesterday and today.
I walk back toward
the scent of nectar,
of happiness
Eating up the sunshine
while I still can.
Sometimes we just have to
tap our foot at the life we have
like we would to a familiar tune.
Sometimes there seems to
be a halfway point between
where you’ve been and where
you want go. But you’re stuck
on the side of the road where
the landscape looks dead, but
still you find some pretty in the trees
and that song in your head.
You sing full-lunged as you
toe tap down the highway.
And for a moment it doesn’t matter
what came before or what came after.
You don’t think about where you live
or where supper comes from.
You aren’t concerned with hunger or restlessness.
You just keep going forward, windswept and hope kept,
all too ready to be struck by something reckless,
something mad. Something so intensely hot
it could strike you dead.
