This is not my heart only

It is yours and yours and yours

The sighing rhythm of the world interrupted

The anguished catch in a singer’s wail

The mournful drone of a cello’s tuning

I do not nor ever would keep these hidden

I throw them out to join the circulatory swirl

Let you hear what I hear

For I have heard your voices also

With every joy every sorrow every soaring song

Echoing in my dreams and we are never alone

The rain on the grass the wind in the leaves

We raise our heads to the sky for a glimpse of the sun

The beat the ebb the flow the beat the ebb the flow

On and on and on in us all

I take these things

Rays of forgotten laughter entangled in skyward branches

Glints of ancient tears enrobed in half-trodden rocks

Shines of discarded prayers ensnared in hidden eyries

I place them in the chambers of my charred heart

Blackened from use as a philosopher’s stone

(You see or perhaps you never know that)

I am the maker of fireflies

I travel unnoticed on crowded streets and abandoned alleyways

Dispensing these to land in worried eyes on wearied shoulders

(This being everyone I pass)

So when you suddenly stop in wonder at a beloved smile

Or lift yourself with a stranger’s aid

Know that I walked by

(in every age someone does this

As fireflies are essential)

Open the door in the hours before dawn.

The trills drift into the kitchen like smoke.

They are smoke, each bird aflame. We do not see this.

Step outside to check the sky.

The shadows wash across the moon like smoke.

They are smoke, each cloud a signal. We do not see this.

Go about the morning business.

Begin to cough but cast this on other causes.

All is enkindled. The world is burning.

There are no distant fires.

I do not disdain your grocery store oolong

Served in a chipped thrift store cup.

The love with which it is offered

Transforms this into the rarest of teas,

Steeped with considerate care, warmed by attentive kindness,

sweetened with local honey and shared stories.

Never disparage such a gift, nor apologize to serve it.

I will sit at your old farmhouse table and savor every sip,

Grateful indeed for this time and place

And the opportunity to rest for a bit and breathe the fresh air,

Thankful always for your friendship.

Dazedly we emerged from our houses,

Walking with shaky steps to gaze at the unfamiliar sun.

Did you survive the rain? We asked each other,

And most nodded, though we surreptitiously found ourselves

Checking first our own limbs and then those of our neighbors.

When we looked hesitantly into others’ eyes,

We found many awash with tears and knew

That the rain still poured in their thoughts and thus filled them to overflowing.

We surrounded these in sorrow, wanting to hold them close

But did not touch them, lest the water find its way to us.

Meanwhile in a nearby village that was also across the world,

The inhabitants were likewise appearing from their refuges,

Venturing with heavy gait outside to view the strange clouds.

Did you survive the fires? They asked each other,

And most nodded, though they too were glancing secretly

At their own bodies first then doing the same for their neighbors.

When they briefly peered into others’ faces,

They discovered many scorched with rage and knew

That the blaze still burned in their hearts and thus consumed them without remorse.

They gathered round these in fear, really wanting to flee

But instead hugging them tightly to smother their flames, thus preventing them from spreading.

Rain. Fire. When you step beyond your door, consider them when you meet another.

I will wear your flannel shirts on these mornings

When steam fog rises from the pond

And birdsong weaves through the silent trees.

(Do trees have voices?

I still hear yours, raised in murmured song

As you prepared for the work ahead.

You thought I slept but I was always listening.)

I will prepare hot strong coffee, one cup only,

and drink it black from your favorite cup.

(I always preferred tea but never mentioned,

Wanting to join you in this ritual to begin the day.

Would you have minded? I never thought to ask.)

I will try on your pretty pink shoes

And laugh as I always did when you wore them.

(I loved the way they contrasted with the toughness of the shirts.

You were the only girl I knew who chose such attire.

Did I ever tell you? Now I wish I had done so every morning before you left for work.)

Will, I miss you. I always miss you.

I say this now, and all the things I never said and the questions I never asked

I repeat with every breath.

I want to miss you in the rain

Seeing your face in the mirrored droplets of the downfall

So that I find you pictured everywhere I turn

Seeing your face in the puddled forms of the sidewalk

So that I change my step to not disturb your gaze

Seeing your face in the glistening windows of the storefronts

So that I pause to stare into your countenance

If I do this, then the grief that overcomes subsides

As there you are and there you and there you are.

Until I remember with the returning ache of solitude

That I never met you do not know you will never find you.

You never existed do not exist will not exist

There is only a walk in the rain

Once upon a time in my life,

I fled to a new city.

I knew no one; had no money; had no food.

I shivered alone in a desolate room;

Tried not to think; tried not to cry.

A knock on the door.

I opened it to find a stranger.

He stood careworn by age and whatever of life’s trials

Had brought him to this place.

He handed me a coffee can.

It contained a few eggs, some ground coffee, a packet of bacon.

“This is what I keep on hand for the last of the month.”

Stunned I thanked him. He left.

Then:

On my way to the refrigerator I tripped; dropped the can.

The eggs broke. I cried in despair.

I took the can; removed the coffee and bacon;

Picked out the shell fragments.

I cooked the eggs with the bacon;

Made coffee as best I could on the stove.

I knocked on several doors until I found my benefactor.

I explained what happened; asked him to share the food.

He accepted. We sat together;

Exchanged a few words while we ate.

Soon after I left the area but will never forget this.

How did he know?

I enter the ocean to rest,

Relinquishing my will to the undulating waves.

I close my eyes as I sink into the deep,

Going down, down, down.

My arms and legs stretch out starfish-like,

The flesh dissolving until only bones remain.

One by one they separate,

Each slowly drifting away into the reefs.

Gratefully I let any sense of self do likewise,

Spreading out in diaphanous filaments.

These too dissipate into the life of the sea.

No mourning. No loss. No revelation.

But know:

The salt currents carry within them our tears.

I find you climbing a tree,

Or perhaps an abandoned shrimp boat.

You often frequent both,

They being part of the lonely places,

The dark places shadowed by cypress and oak

Overhung with bearded moss.

You do not see me, of course.

I’m viewing you from years beyond,

To watch you play with serious mien

As you seek out favorite haunts.

Your friends are these swampy waterways,

The bayous and rivers that hid you away.

Even now from so great a distance,

I still hear your voice when I walk in the evening.