a stone picked up on a walk
gravelled bit torn from pavement
common industrial dirt
if I throw it into the waterlogged ditch
what stories will leach into the weeds
traveled myths rumbled from trucks
tarsid dreams wiped by ants
childhood memories slicked from my hand
or will it sink to the bottom, at home in the tangled slime
not needing to do anything at all
let me be like that rock
I thought myself patient and wise, building this sturdy wall
brick by hardened brick around my fearful precious self
but that surround is made of glass and guards an empty space
able to be shattered by any kind word
every day I am cut by some sharp edge, some jagged self-delusion
that I still grasp to use as mirror to see my face
how long before I’ve bled enough to drop these shards
let go such desperate need and rest
no sight, no seeing, no being seen
existence itself diaphanous as a fine scarf
found in an ancient trunk stored in some attic
translucent as silk passed down through generations
memento from a faraway war, gift for someone long forgotten
knowledge made fragile now by weighted time
one light breath can cause any fray to part
one wept tear can rupture all the threads
pieces falling as gently as life’s joys and sorrows
a heartbreak, a whispered hope, a last daring dream
I hold the beauty of your smile
cupped in my hand, a glowing light
take it gently into the evening hour
when the sun begins to fade
there under the branches of a leafless tree
I open my fingers to allow it flight
this other spark of love
it flickers upwards into the sky
joining all that star the night
the kind gazes, the unexpected generous words,
the endless compassionate acts
thought I would walk to the grocery
the one down the road in the little white building
might or might not be owned by a cousin
he claimed to be and had the same name
doesn’t mean much when you’re in the Deep south
didn’t know I’d be walking forever
all older now and slowing down
oyster shell pavement still rough of an evening
but where else to buy butter in this small town
and a can of Rotel spicy of course
weekend’s coming so cheese grits
with hot hot tomato gravy
first you make the roux…
what do we breathe like water
gulp down like air
plunging through catchless sky and seamless waves
tossed without ceasing by riptides and wind
each day each moment brings its own weather
each morning we begin again
learn to ride the hidden currents
learn not to throw ourselves against the clouds
or not, and arrive at night
drenched and bruised by endless falls
the silence of the moon refused my dreams
letting them fall useless back to ground
shattering unheard like junkyard glass, like ramshackle dreams,
like a haggard heart battered by weary patience
so finally I slept, thus unburdened by heavy want
and awoke to step with lighter mien
the day now met as just it was, not as something it should be
reveals the beat and throb of sorrow
the chambered pulse of metered love
the hidden oceanic flow
arterial currents have their source
every signal a prior initiate to fire
all arising from endless time
descending back into the same
number your days by this count
until you relax and rest
in tender expose of your wise flayed heart
when you remember to look for me
I will be gone
nothing left behind, no trail of footprints
no scattered bones, no word scrawled upon a leaf
I take stories with me, that they not be discarded
not dust from your lives but seeds instead
planted elsewhere, this is how
the web of connection grows and spreads
one day you will travel, to find yourself at home
I said goodbye, my voice thickened
swallowing anguish again and again
that burned my eyes with the unshed collect of tears
halted my breath with the weighted catch of sorrow
not for her, never for her, but for my own selfish loss
I bid my grief rest in the her great fortune
happiness evident in her keen clear gaze
sharp with newfound focus and affectionate attention
this was what I wanted most
so judged my distress an insignificant thing
a sliver of glass lodged in my heart alone
a sliver ablaze with love and shining with her joy
