All could seem like a dream,

These grey skies, this pouring rain, this sodden earth.

But it does not, for these are real as anything.

What does this mean that these exist,

Measured against the need to say farewell?

Sorrow and joy have equal weight;

Turn one over to find the other.

As I look down the length of my days past,

I do not mourn.

The clouds have always been beautiful;

Tears matter no more than any other water;

The dirt accepts us without regard.

If I have forgotten to thank you or you or you,

Let these words suffice as time runs out.

I am so very grateful.

There was noise. So much noise.

Multiple conversations occurring at once.

Street construction banging into the walls.

Bright skies with bright sun. People wearing even brighter clothing.

I tried to listen with the focus of my breath.

Myriad sounds clanging into one another.

Important words disappearing into the general roar.

Kaleidoscopic images outside the window joining the chaotic affray.

I briefly spoke then broke in frustration, fleeing to find some silent gray redoubt.

I do not have a good loud voice. My hands can randomly shake.

Sometimes I must leave. Sometimes I must be rude. Sometimes.

Alone he walks down the side of the road.

The longing he feels for his distant home enshrouds him.

We sometimes speak briefly in passing.

He settles his dark eyes and gentle attention when we talk.

I do likewise with my lighter gaze.

When we part from our brief encounter, I do so saddened.

His heart the greater part of him still beats to another rhythm.

I hope he finds his way. I fear he will travel forever.

Or at least until he can do so no more.

The circling carrion eaters will clean his bones.

I offer them mine so that he might have more time.

Twilight drifts through the bedroom window

With a wistful cast for all it is not:

Not bright daylight lit by the sun;

Not rain clouds threatening to drench all below;

Not stygian darkness preparing to showcase the stars;

Not even the overloud rumble occasioned by the passing train.

Falling so quickly it cannot choose

On which side of time to place its allegiance:

The waking hours of so varied array

Or the quieting duration of more similar miens.

Caught in this hesitation for its brief span,

It slips away before my eyes,

After murmuring almost unheard thanks,

Grateful that I had watched and noticed.

If you saw me, you would see:

I walk lithe and free, proud to be what I am.

Youthful, aged, eternal,

I wear pinstriped suits with a vest and tie,

Always with a fedora and oxford boots.

I don glittering gowns with outrageous heels,

Always with extreme impeccable make-up.

I scare wrinkled old men who brandish bibles

But charm their wide-eyed open-hearted children.

The troubled seek me, for they know

I will call them by their true names,

Drape them in rainbows, and let them dance.

I walk down your streets , as you shut your eyes in horror

At the colorful flags and the joyful laughter

That trail in my wake to make festive the road.

When I glance your way, you know that I see you.

This is what scares you the most.

The past reaches out with mudded hands

A potter that continues to shape my day

Shifting my moods as malleable as clay

Just hearing a song transforms

Voices recall that giddy excitement

I feel again your touch on my face

The stone you brought me from your tour

We held it between us that night

The warmth we drew to ease its sea-deep coolness

Lingers still, and our laughter shines around it.