because I still do not know these things
how I exist at all
(I die every so often or each moment, take your pick)
how communication works
(I can speak face to face but otherwise am lost)
how to move about
(I am gawkily awkward as if I’m always in a strange land)
and yet a friend will text at 2:55 am
with a reminder that I’m thought of
my presence wanted in some other place
so I make a playlist to send in my stead
and sit here in amazement
I’ll always be startled by evidence of love
on the surface of the tea, a moon
tilt the cup, pour it into your hand
gently gently hold it there
resting in silent contemplation
fold it into your heart
it has always been there
shining unseen on a hidden shelf
behind the little stones we gather
to throw in all directions but mostly back at ourselves
not realizing these conceal such light
don’t forget to finish the tea
wash the cup and put it away
who knows what the next time will bring
the house burned and walls fell
he and his friends rebuilt it
sweating under the hot summer sun
drinking bottles of cold beer
smoking cigarettes and telling tales
they joked the house would die again
wagered it would be by flood
placing a few bets no one would recover
then vanished after the project was done
their words proved true one hurricane season
the road and land itself were gone
but to this day in the tail of August
the scent of salt, beer, and smoke
and the murmur of laughing conversation
bring me back home and remind me
that houses are not meant to last
what and when and where
breath each breath one breath only
a moment catches the attention
mind at ease spacious aware
curious about what is
stories fabricated as the web of the world
loosely so see them as just that
playful movement to a song
each hears alone dancers pacing out the turn
what step what gesture what note
what now
they crowd the street corners
line the sidewalks
talking shouting carrying signs
it’s coming watch don’t wait
do something now
death laughs and says
I’m here with you in every moment
dressed in a pinstriped suit
slouching by in that torn coat
waving from the passing car
the red jam on your plate
will be your blood
the coffee left in your cup
your grave’s mud
until then we dance
you thinking you lead
but the skeletal beat and timed out thrum
give lie to this for you know
you have always known
the two step has to end
clouds amass in the west
dark with promise of rainfall
bruised by too much possibility
shot through with the sun’s brilliant wane
we wait under the threat
heaviness pressing upon our bodies
burdened by hope tied up in time’s passage
our hearts always reaching upwards
and if we grasp those white threads of light
where will we climb
what will we do
blood-red stem a narrow thread
to which origin shall we return
darker veins web the blades
do we feel the flow and ebb within
scarlet hues shade throughout
what shadows similarly tint our heart
we ourselves will one day rest just so
will such beauty be our display
yes and yes and yes
broken bench in the field
stone birdbath in pieces
some few half-buried paving tiles
dreams collapse all the time
this cannot be done
that will not happen
whatever this or that might be
grieve not for the fall
no failure this passage
beauty abides in fallow ground
peace in just this moment
another person killed
the bullet etched by invisible hate
engraved in his own words
the walls he sought to build
failed to protect him
nor will they shield you or you or you
the guns you hold on others
will be your death
when you are falling to the ground
who will come to hold you
the bier upon which you will be laid
the branches that set afire the pyre
the smoke that rises from the flames
all these will not be noticed
the world itself is in conflagration
the mourning is too vast
this moment of now
this leaf poised on the precipice of turn
this morning crisp with foretelling
this breath without any need
this step on the timeless threshold
this invitation to go beyond
one hand touches the earth
