The world comes slowly into focus,
revealing my surroundings until,
I return, yesterday’s self, mixing,
with night dreams and the new day.
Doubt greets me peddling fear,
worn words, mocking reviews
of past choices, and future fears,
now powerless to possess me.
Though still at times, my thoughts
move across these, trying each,
like a tongue worrying sore teeth,
testing each for the origin,
or absence of pain, and moving on.
Writing now in silent morning hours,
almost; alone, untouched, and undisturbed,
save by the world’s insistence I attend
as its unending hungers make demands.
The gnawing lack, all feel, none speak,
insistent absence unassuaged,
silenced like awkward questions,
knowing bent in hoping knowing wrong.
Silence’s spell contrives it so
that all amiss, unspoken and unseen,
cannot then break the chrysalis of fear,
free endless pain on Armageddon’s wings.
It grows heavier this unease, perhaps disease,
swallowing; untilled fields, stream songs,
undivided forest, silent space,
memories of sun on farmhouse walls’
flaming auburn lighted browns and greys.
None will abide beyond our hearts last call
when every thought is stilled and silenced, grace,
replaced by progress, those who sell their lives,
count countless gain in days of thoughtless waste.
I live unbroken, not untouched
I’ve shared the pallid lives and empty days
passing in cul-de-sacs and unaware,
of laughter, insults, the elegant alias,
“at the bottom of an empty bag”.
Now I write, my morning free of fear,
creating spaces untroubled,
untouched by hunger’s pain,
empty of emptiness.
With me spirits, and stories linger,
lifted from the shoulders of indigenous ancients
to lie with me in shrinking solitude,
on hilltops, with altitudes, just below notoriety,
shaded by small groves of elder trees.
Now I accept, for the first time,
an aging with the passing days.
as if I have let go of immortality
to grieve in ending, an imperfect life.
Unfinished without love’s completion.
though we wept or laughed no difference,
though we never met, still undiminished.
now all is all, and grace, to know it true,
I’ve lived in love and missed my love of you.
Let fate exact whatever price it will
and if the world is withered, as it might
Before my light lit spirit travels on
Let me but write my flesh and bone away.
I swear my anger never served me well
nor judgments ever softened any pain,
my heart was broken many, many times,
my anguish never softened by disdain.
So freed my spirit lives in every line
To hold the fields and trees, the weathered frame
of every farmhouse, rill and wind swept hill
Strong still, enough to show the changing sky,
in trust for any traveler passing by.