not the close quarters at the bar
the small confinement of the car
not the dinner crowd shoppers in a rush
no I know it happened thus
when I ventured outside the basement door
alone in the vastness of the cold morning air
overhead there flew one lone crow
black with a screech and a definite sly mien
who dropped a virus right into my path
my gifts were unacceptable it seems
and do you say “this is home”
placing your hand upon the door
so that it opens into the very room
where you have somehow left your heart
careless on the windowsill
or behind a lamp upon that table
it collects dust like every objet petit a
gets chipped edges and scrapes
will you leave it when you go
unnoticed as dirty smoke
it crawls into the present crevices
then you begin to choke
on all the burning excuses from the past
the skeletal bones of love and the wasted lives
dug up and used as fuel
for others’ urgent desperate needs
and so the cycle continues
nothing new to bring to the change
one day to the other then a different year
this arbitrary marker has no magic
affects not the seasons nor the sun the moon
it drives the senseless drivers of modern life
endless regulations that humans impose
nature has its own time unconstrained by foolish decree
so do I
this bar my respite from the town’s primary occupation
that of presenting facade just as brutal in effect as the original
genteel beauty serves the monied and the tourists
gardened grounds available for a suitable fee
the slave post for trade demolished and largely unmentioned
the crack of the whip and the ring of the chain still echo in the streets
District homes with storied pasts still preside with pride of place
in their shadows long cast labor those who keep them
one day some day one of them will take a match and strike
see how long it takes to burn this to the ground
in the shadow of the generator the generator the generator
in the shadow of the generator the generator the generator
in the shadow of the generator the generator the generator
what did he dream
did he crawl into the bang and thrum
make a nest inside the clang and hum
turn his heart into the piston’s drum
sleep as machined
in the shadow of the generator the generator the generator
in the shadow of the generator the generator the generator
in the shadow of the generator the generator the generator
what did he dream
did he dream of the past when he was so young
did he dream of the present while he was still strong
did he dream of the future when he’d be so old
did he dream of nothing hungry and cold
tired beyond means
in the shadow of the generator the generator the generator
in the shadow of the generator the generator the generator
in the shadow of the generator the generator the generator
what did he dream
did he hear the mountains sing of rocks and creeks
of labyrinth roads with views so bleak
of ridges blue and limned in smoke
where he would die
in the shadow of the generator the generator the generator
in the shadow of the generator the generator the generator
in the shadow of the generator the generator the generator
what did he dream
he did not choose to tell me
I chose not to ask
I gave space for what he said
listened also to what was not
when he left I said goodbye
I do not think he heard
I bid farewell to the ghost
of the person I had thought him to be
it does not matter I’ve come to see
I do not even know myself
so cannot presume to know another
my heart is heavy so I leave it
discarded on the street
half hidden by a dented can
I had wrapped it so carefully
in strong local thread
kindness gathered throughout the years
then placed it unwisely
and a knife blade sliced though
love weighs so much
anchors me to place and time
a ballast to somewhere I can no longer be
I travel soon no road no map
one memory resting in that raw space
tears easily turn to rain
body to dirt laughter to stars
I’ve no fear about this journey
though this was not forecast, rain fell in the mountains
fell in such torrents that creeks became rivers
rivers turned raging and joined with the storm
all we held dear all we called ours many we loved
washed away down ridge then the ridge itself disappeared
these days seem like that time as grief hits us hard
batters us each without end in sight
the sharing of tears holds us through this dark night
we reach for each other in the morning
nothing restores what we’re lost, no way to bring back what is gone
but brief glimpses of love give us strength to remember
these memories a foundation for this present home
(for R, with deep affection)
I flee to the trees the bayous
the rough bark and murky water asking nothing
letting me climb fall swim flounder without remark
I learn how to breathe again after landing too hard
find my way back to the surface after exploring too far
under the coolness of canopied cypress
listening to the lap and flow against the muddied bank
I rest sufficient without having to be
a glittering mirror never enough never enough
I know that I am enough enough for me
