ground underfoot heralds a train
prolonged horn sounds industrial grief
mechanical death has already occurred
obsolete car drags obsolete car
birds pull silence up from dirt
they do not mourn the shaking passage of time
theropod wings are much older than shaped metal
here the antechamber
a dreary room small and drab
unfurnished lit only by a neon light
flickering threatening to go out
the floor covered by a slick of mud
tracked from other peoples’ shoes
once this seemed the world
brilliant views of an endless sky
a sun that shone on verdant fields
now older and my eyes fail
clearly the illusions fade
know where I wait and why
(The title is a quote from a U.S. State-in the Deepest South-Delegate)
these new gods, deities of flash and cash
delight in human sacrifice as they stride across the world,
our backs their stepping stones, our faces to the ground.
we sing in worship, songs shouting possession;
we groan in pain, cries seeking recognition.
both go unheard by the hard indifferent dirt
and the gods pay no heed at all.
why should they, made in our image?
I say to this hand in disbelief
whose are you, to what body do you belong
likewise to these words that you read
whose are you, what hand wrote you
you are not mine, neither hand nor words
how can I who do not exist
have either of these things
you are not mine, neither hand nor words
how can I who do not exist
have either of these things
yet here they are, and I would not be
do you want them
does it matter that I have none to follow
a bare branch that never wanted leaves
but said to birds and insects and other things
here if you wish to make a home
none would remain or not for long
that did not matter was not the point
I offered what I had
now burn me down to ash
<dedicated to Richard>
consider loss and gain
grief yes in so many ways
seems to outweigh the world
then one brief kindness caught in the rush
tips the balance of the scales
the heart of compassion lighter ever
than the heavy feather of illusory truth
each of us has lifted a burden for someone
each moment each day each encounter
your time of listening, your hour of hearing
provides a gentler land
thank you thank you thank you
he saved me from desperation
train trestle desolate water razor edge
perhaps discerned, I never knew
he called me over to join him
warm smile and gentle handshake
such generous welcome brought tears
he nodded, “it’s okay to cry”
we talked about childhood pain and getting old
he died, and I mourn that I never told him
he died, and I mourn that he is not here
he died, and I will always rejoice
that I knew him as a friend
nothing in this day is mine, nothing ever mine
I am empty
could not see this today, too full of self
falsely disconnected
everywhere felt strange, everyone a stranger
forgot to bow in wonder, did not smile in thanks
all family everywhere, related to me over and over again
if I could remember to see
let sadness rest a brief cloud of ignorance, not make it the sky
I could hold out a hand to you all the ones of you
open it, give you a heart a flower a bird poised to fly
he died. he was killed. he killed himself.
his face so gentle when he gazed towards the world
steeled in judgement when he turned towards the mirror.
perhaps. we don’t know for certain, for no one came to tell us
their hands filled with grief, the overflow of tears
all we can see is the holes that appeared in our quotidian walk
smiles not given, kindnesses not done, bits of sparkle and joy gone missing
mourn if we want and for a time, but better would be
once we notice a gap, think how to fill it anew
he left his heart here, I know
it shines in your eyes my eyes and the eyes of us all
did I watch the sun disappear
I answer no, I danced instead
I sang to someone who was afraid
and held her in my arms
the sun leaves us every night then to return
a regular fable we tell ourselves
her life less certain, and so
I would rather gaze at her to gage her eyes
love burns much brighter, time so brief
let others behold the wandering sun