Again I walk the loneliest streets,
Stumbling over the rough pavement
Or perhaps my own grief.
I listen to the clangor
Of the railroad being rebuilt
And wonder if I could do that
With the worn out structure of my heart.
I shake my head at this and say no.
Now I’m drinking black coffee in a bare room,
Reading the savage words of Aeschylus
And occasionally pausing to look out the window
At the vast indifferent city night.
This is where I’ve always lived.
This is where I’ll die.
I walk on crumbling pavement in derelict streets
To gaze upon abandoned buildings with boarded doors
And dusty signs that advertise sorrow for closure.
I travel to the overgrown fields
To visit wakes of vultures with avid mien
And clamorous geese that fly overhead to nowhere.
The lowering skies and threatening clouds provide refuge
For a journeyer such as I, hooded in gray and solitary.
When all ground is unsteady and every kindness a threat,
I take comfort in the evidence of decay.
With knowledge of such dark glory, can misery abide?
When I was a child, I lived by the sea.
I swam in its waters and played on its shores.
Grey-bearded cypress trees and ancient oaks
Were my beloved friends,
And sea serpents taught me the beginnings of wisdom.
Now I live in the mountains far from any ocean.
I walk on their trails and gaze at their peaks.
Brightly garbed maples and hickory trees
Are my present companions,
And the bones of the earth counsel me on patience.
On a walk I picked up a stone and held it to my ear.
I did not hear the roar of vast waves.
But I did hear faint echoes of half-forgotten susurrations
Reminding me that I am loved.
The past is with us always.
When I was a child, I lived by the sea.
I swam in its waters and played on its shores.
Sometimes I would visit the sea serpents
Who lived hidden in the deep.
They told me many tales,
For they were griots, wise and fierce and ancient indeed.
Much of what they whispered
Has given me aid and comfort through the years.
But I have also learned this:
Even sea serpents can lead one astray.
Like all beings,
Sometimes they just make things up.
As a child I lived by the sea.
I swam in its waters and played on its shores.
I watched the birds write poetry in the skies,
Read stories left by crabs scuttling in the sand,
And was lulled by mingled songs of sun, waves, and wind.
When I drifted to sleep with salt lingering on my lips,
I was visited by sea serpents, the wisest denizens of the depths.
Their sibilant sagacity wove through my dreams,
Finally coming to root in my bones.
Now in my waning, I begin to understand.
Ancient laughter echoes through the years,
While the very particles of existence appear and disappear,
All joined in a dance.
As a child I lived by the sea.
I swam in its waters and played on its shores.
Once I dove deep into the dreamland of the depths.
There I encountered all manner of magical creatures
And sat with sea serpents to hear their stories.
They would curl around me to whisper in my ears
Marvelous tales, wise and wondrous and whimsical.
They said, “When you arrive at the surface again,
You will forget our time together, but only for a while.”
I am beginning to remember and often hear their laughter
Rippling through the stars at night.
As a child I lived by the sea.
I swam in its waves and played on its shores.
Once I cut my foot on a shard of glass,
So my blood has mingled with the sand.
But remember this:
We all come from the ocean.
Its salt waters run through our bodies.
Hence if we choose to listen,
We can hear the murmured stories of sea serpents
To guide us on the path.
The fires await in the world to come.
But no, the land already burns.
Beware the floods foretold to sweep the land.
How so, when mountainsides now wash away?
Some gleefully add to the flaming pyre,
Dancing as the ashes scatter on the wind.
Some open the pipes to add to the waters’ rise,
Taking axes to the few available boats.
We want to stare in horror, as they hasten our demise.
No time for this luxury. No time for reckoning.
We can only save what we can.
The task is hard. The hour is upon us.
Take my outstretched hand; likewise extend yours to another.
It was not petrichor, this scent of rain.
The path as I walked had previously
Been dampened by nocturnal showers.
The trees glinted with moisture,
And the sodden ground muffled my footsteps.
No, this was the balm of continued precip
That joined the falling leaves, the cooling winds,
And the shortening light
As messengers all of season’s change.
Glory in the mountains.