this moment, this day, these times
everyone is shouting
angry words, angry voices, angry indignation
all in righteous tones, each louder in succession
as if sheer volume carries moral weight
some few speak softly or not at all
occupied with ordinary tasks
but with attention nonetheless
fearing to find what quietness means
following such noise
if memory is what binds us here
makes real the ghosts that stalk the land
lay waste to the dreams of the living
tear at what hopes the future might hold
then I want to be forgotten
let the small good I do remain
kindness as intentional scree
shards of broken love for those better equipped
words dropped on back streets and banked trails
to be found if someone has need
but not me, never me
when I go, I would be gone
do not tie me here with false tether
and when they laugh as they throw me
into what they consider void,
they cannot hear that I am also laughing
this gap, this pause, this seemingly eternal liminal space
has always been my refuge
so I do not fall when tossed off an edge, I fly
because I know what they cannot yet
there is no threat here, no danger they can offer
what they see is their own face staring back
when I soar, they also have wings
she had a fine critical eye, so all around her claimed
and indeed she moved with arrogant flair
designers welcomed her with inward fear
for her monied taste entailed a capricious anger
that had been known to destroy a showroom
not often but just enough for word to spread
still if she chose to stalk the streets of Midtown
the District or the Quarter at night
and casually flash your bag or twirl your cape
others would notice and make their way to beg
make me look like her and buy buy buy
they never would, of course
they lacked the proper eye
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the fire sped through with efficient speed
taking everything in its hot maw
leaving the only fallen bricks of the wall
and this on the ashy floor beneath a dirty boot print
a black and white photograph, torn at one edge
taken of the house just after it was built
empty yet of anything but anticipation for years ahead
constructed by a frame of dreams and hopes
those laid waste and now in charred ruin
though the scent of burnt memories still hung in the air
as I picked it up, I silently asked it
did you know somehow what lay ahead
though certain events press us to be frantic
and the marketplace is busy with worry
remember this is always so
and likewise there is always an antidote at hand
let the winter season that rests the field rest your mind
since you must walk with care, pay even closer attention
each step its own journey, a remarkable gift
stop for a moment, let your eyes gaze with new sight
open your ears to hear without immediate judgement
feel how you occupy that particular space
you might find the fence post or street corner
changed because you changed
in such small ways do we transform the world
peace by peace by peace
and let the rain fall from the sky
run down my face to hide my tears
these so concentrate with sorrow
they drop to the ground as glistening gems
each one shot through with silken filaments
fissures of experienced compassion
that fractured open my heart’s facade
these rise around me a crystalline mountain
shining to return light wherever it be found
and the flowing streams around this calm
radiance dancing from surface to surface
even the weighted lowering clouds gain relief
their burden thereby transformed
I was never to his war
bloodied land, rubbled homes, shrieking wounded
but he brought it home to me upon my doorstep
the ugly desperation of those who returned
so haunted by not dying that death trailed them
whispering constantly names of the killed
it’s only the wind I told him again and again
he could not hear me through the endless moan
until one night I learned how heavy a gun can be
when you remove it from a limp hand
how futile comfort offered seemed
against the stark reality of a bullet casing
I never heard the shot
how do I say he lived, when he never left the fight?
do not tell me the dead do not change – they do, for I have seen this myself
they morph and writhe just as the living, and just as seldom rest in peace
we hold them tethered here in loving bonds or bitter chains
we do not let them go beyond
those who lay beneath the ground, burn into smoke and ash
have their bones picked clean by birds
but leave behind no one to grieve, they moved in such silent ways
though they might have done inestimable good
these will be the truly free