though I know ghost roads of this town
stories of hidden bones
burnt ruins of forgotten churches
bloodied shame of certain corner lots
I am once again a stranger here
warily walk unfamiliar ways
finding small welcome or recognition
not significant enough to be granted
even a visitors pass
a statue in the overgrown yard
hard blank eyes staring into the trees
wind-blown leaves drifting like easy lies
fallen arm half-buried by the plinth
rough at the break but hand intact
ants crawling over the fist still clenched to hit
once monumental now barely noticed
time relentlessly consequential
savaging statues and makers alike
on the train through the mountains, I leaned my head
to watch the window fill with autumn color
blue grays of rocky outcrops and infinitely variable skies
greens browns and brilliant golds of turning trees
but what caught my attention most and snagged into my heart
an unwitting hook that would bring me back
were slender fiery-hued leaves, living tongues of flame
they burned like words I would one day remember
finally I speak them because I am home
I see these leaves now in the fields where I walk
hooks no more, but warm familiar friends
they never told me when you died
the day the place unknown to me
they never told me where you lay
the rite itself I heard described
because I do not know these things
you have wandered with me through the years
not a ghost nor a revenant
no returner from death’s realm
simply as you were, mortal just as I
growing old by my side
hidden testament to mortality
this rock sitting beneath the trees
no writing upon its face
it marks unknown dead
all grief has passed
gone deep into the ground
nothing left but a silent witness
and a few who give nod at the sight
the night I walk away
bones will drop as I go
brittle broken fractured things
yellowed by relentless age
these will never dance
nor will they rise
detritus from a discarded life
throw them to the midden
or let them litter where they lie
a final marker of where I tread
it is enough for me, this life
one I’ve chosen again and again
now worn and fraying like a favorite shirt
threadbare in places with some holes
no longer a protection from chill or rain
a kindly reminder of advancing constraints
still serviceable for my brief season
nothing I’d offer to anyone else
a tattered beautiful thing
mornings finally bring
a hint of relief to fields withered brown
worn to distress by heat and drought
unceasing demands of worrisome summer
come autumn, will there be respite
not just for lands to lie fallow
but also ourselves
will we rest at all
our surround urges us to run ever faster
in futile race after pyrite and gold
each will slip from skeletal grasp and return
a mineral added to the dirt, unheeding that we died
let us bow our heads and pray
once I decided to throw away this world
as a glittering prize that can never be reached
I began to see the vivid greens of grass and tree,
such variegated hues, with sudden splashes of contrast
in the cardinal perched upon a limb or a robin’s bold breast
I view these now when my eyes are failing
I hear the mad chatter and scold from backyard squirrels
with ears likewise diminished for their task
as if in these shortened minutes before I depart
a veil has fallen away that once obscured
and I walk amidst light that dances with the laughter of emptiness