The deep tone of a singing bowl fades away.
A man lifts his head to hear, exhales, and is no more.
A woman pauses her moans, inhales, and gives birth.
The rain falls steadily, and this road flows with water.
Death juggles skulls, as reality itself fractures and cracks.
All below, hand in hand, dance in and out of life.
The wheel of sharp weapons turns, turns, and turns again.
I cannot measure this suffering.
The distance from my outstretched arm to my nose tip
Does not suffice,
Nor can I hold it cradled in my hand.
At times it fills the entire world,
Though I know that it is just a speck of dirt.
Let me throw it to the ground,
There to join all the other debris,
The gathered soil of wars, famines, and plagues
But mostly the common loam of everyday wear.
Life after life after life this is what remains,
Yet we return to dig again in the muck.
In ignorant wonder we hold up our muddied hands,
As if we have no memory that this earth is part of us.
My tears leave black streaks on my face,
And I cannot catch myself as I fall.
Lay down on the verdant hillside.
This is also a grave.
As you spread out your limbs,
Light runs from your fingers and toes
To intertwine with tree roots.
These glowing threads bind you to the earth,
Together with sun’s slanting rays
Filtered through the branches overhead.
Beneath you scarabs move in the dirt,
Tapping down a deathwatch
With a promise to turn your bones to gold.
Fear not and still your mind.
Death and life are one and the same.
A soft breeze flows over the grass.
Bird sing their melodious song.
This day will never end.
The air hangs still and silent,
Suspended in the heat of the afternoon.
It feels like the dog days of August,
Though the first day of summer has yet to arrive.
I sit in the shade on the hill, close my eyes, and listen.
I hear the distant stamp of armored feet,
The rattle of sword and spear against shield,
And the rhythmic chant of warriors’ song.
And I know: the Achaeans have arrived.
The wind briefly stirs
And brings the coppery scent of blood,
The drifting remnants of ash from sacrificial pyres,
And the faint threnody of women’s cries.
The ground beneath me shakes as Troy’s walls collapse.
Rising, I become aware of a passing train.
The sky has clouded over, but the scorching air persists.
The goddess’ wrath echoes in each step I take,
As I walk home to have a cup of tea.
They caught a glimpse
Of our rainbow-hued world
The way we breathed more easily
By being here together
How our eyes reflected the glitter of drag
In irridescent tears
How our voices threw off the ever-present caution
We assume in other company
How our laughter bounced off the walls
While we danced through the night
How we wrote our stories in bright chalk
When we knew they were temporary
(They walk over them the next day
To erase our words as always)
This is all we have, an evening hidden by careful description
A morning hour carved from someone else’s time
A piece of pavement borrowed from a storefront
Still we remain
We are here
And we don’t care if you get used to us
Birdsong pours through the morning
Drenches every tree and bush.
The ink-dark remnants of the night
Stars and bits of forgotten dreams
Transform into rainbows and glimmers of hope.
Laughing, we open our hands
To catch trilling notes from the flow,
Hiding these away in the hollows of our hearts.
For who knows what troubles the day might bring?
Black-winged with blood-red heads, they gather round.
Offering no lamentations, no respectful pause, they feed.
Such scavengers appear to have a shrouded mien.
This is solely our imputation.
In the distance a dog howls.
Rain falls from a darkened sky.
Vanitas vanitatum et omnia vanitas.
Echoes in my empty heart.
She hands me a bouquet of flowers with heart-shaped leaves.
She smiles shyly as I put them into a vase and says,
“These are beautiful, just like you.”
How do I tell her that I cannot will not do not do this?
I know that she presents more wants more,
That this floral gift is but a prelude and opening question.
Best to dash these hopes now.
She can find another who sees
The glorious pink, the gentle fragrance, and the tender silk.
Not I, for I see all this yes but also
The wilted brown, the musk of decay, and the brittle dryness as they die.
I kiss her gently, a parting farewell, and walk her to the door.
This is love.
Supine in corpse pose.
I close my eyes and count my breaths.
In, out. In, out. In, out.
One by one, my bones leave my body.
They hover disjointed in the air.
Other bones appear.
All begin a caper mad and whirl in abandon.
The universe is nothing but dancing skeletal relics.
Then comes a singe clap.
All motion ceases. The bones dissolve.
Only radiant light remains
And the fading crackle of a death rattle.
One rain drop.
Immobile, suspended in the sky.
An invitation for those who dare.
From its expanse a black monkey with spidery limbs
Climbs out to clamber in the moment,
Wildly dancing and throwing leaves.
The water from which it emerged
Hangs for brief eternity, serene and still.
These two, the unchanged bead and the frenzied beast,
Are the same to open eyes.
I close my hand around each,
Put them in the pocket of my coat,
And trudge down the wet tarmac road.