stand with outstretched arms
fill one hand with lowering grey clouds
massed at the bottom of the hill
pull the sodden darkness
with the other reach towards sunlit sky
breaking over the ridge
draw the glowing warmth
these two meet within your clasped hands
their interplay before you
one two three breaths
the empty road glistens in the rain
each flicker of a moment
each moment of a breath
each breath of a heart beat
rest
midst of ever-change
change of constant transition
transition of this to that
rest
on ground which has no ground
in time beyond time
rest
walk with kindness in illusory day
that one tree kept some leaves scattered through its branches
to catch that certain slant of winter light from a setting sun
making those leaves glitter so brightly golden
they dimmed nearby artificial trees in shabby comparison
that three people saw this arboreal illumination
and by this brief sight became joined in awe
connected now in common knowledge of natural glory
strangers no more but fellow residents of the same world
let me always look for these events
for they are ever present and will save me
let this be enough
let me remember to see
this place is shouting louder than ever
commands in a language that is not my own
celebrate this right now right here (or else)
who would not want to join in the festivities
hymns carol in stores and restaurants
a red-suited jolly old figure greets all at town hall
ornamented trees stand in public spaces, even on a theater roof
a themed parade shuts down Main Street and scares my dog
attendance is optional this year; what about next
red green and white everywhere alongside red white and blue flags
now mandatory for homes vehicles businesses
the air thinner than ever for those who are otherwise
it’s getting harder to breathe
when I travel the rough paved roads
ones faced by metal doors and delivery docks
I no longer stumble on the broken curbsides
my gait undone by my broken heart
once I grieved on those back corners
cried in the rain so no one saw my tears
unexpected strangers shared my burden
let their hearts break open with mine
these exchanges proving prior connection
subterranean tug and flow of outpoured love
drew away selfish cold isolation
ceaseless buffet of harsh afflictions
now I carry in my pockets bits of sorrow
transformed by compassion’s embrace
drop them among the rocks on the street
reminders of level kinship between us
no I no you no they no we
and always the memory of her luminous smile
his gentle welcoming gaze
two oil paintings with a familiar signature
the artist a familial friend
now they rest in a stranger’s garage
thrown carelessly against some boxes
to him they mean nothing
to me they are so much more
warm salty air and a peculiar swampy fug
a studio perched on the edge of a gulf bluff
the path overhung by mossy cypress trees
a refuge offering magic to a hungry child
I could tell you what I’m not
a wizened tree at the edge of an untended field
branches extended like twisted arthritic fingers
just over the rusted barbed wire fence
that marks where someone tried to farm
a rotting boat half submerged in the swamp
planks slowly giving way to slimy years
on a bank sticky with gumbo clay
unnoticed by nutria on their nocturnal climb
I would be lying of course
I have been each of these in the past
even now they live in my bones my skin
if you were to close your eyes and remember
you would find they dwell in you
and when you stare unguarded into the mirror
gaze upwards into the clear night sky
look into the white of winter snow
you see my eyes the leaves the wooden mast
briefly all boundaries dissolve
into rainbow laughter that shimmers the all
once again winter chill
one bird black on a gray skeletal tree
gives call to the pale morning sky
along the fence patches of white spot the grass
not snow not yet but paint from earlier in the year
things aren’t always what they seem
no murder nor unkindness disturbed the hour
no message of untimely grief
most slept on, undisturbed by the solitary greet
some few walkers were all that heard
I will be bone
charred to ash and thrown
into the garbage with other refuse
I will be words
scribbled on old receipts
left in pockets of thrift store shirts
I will be scraps
discarded from plates of wearied diners
who only want to get on their way
nothing to be remembered
nothing worth recall
unless some small kindness that arose
helped someone else along the way
and so the last thanksgiving, the final visit I made to that home
I spent the day alone in pain from being cut open
through walls drifted rise and fall of conversation
everyone enjoying food and this, the very best day of the year
tables filled to overflow with harvests from land sea and sky
fragrant warmth from the kitchen echoed
by heated crackle from logs in the living room hearth
that evening my father brought me a plate
grateful to be remembered and for the meal I thanked him
but could eat very little, my small appetitie whittled away
the next day I managed a few steps to sit by glowing embers
yet felt older than I could ever be and frail
I examined my hands expecting to see
them wrinkled and bent by the gnarls of time