I am friendly as a golden dog
offer stories with a nonchalant hand
share belongings if I see a need
but I am watching always
subtle shifts unnoticed tells
giveaways in tone and body
that signify intent
let the casual take me for naive
my smile can sharpen into a knife
if you’re lucky, I’ll just walk away
before you see the blade
realize what you’ve lost retrace your steps
look in doorways loading bays dirty back alleys
you won’t find missing pieces
the heart that shatters at every kindness
the mind that breaks on each piece of art
the sense of self that becomes so fluid
you leave it oozing over a rail somewhere
these are commonplace gimcracks
you can get used at any cheap store
in the pages of a thriftstore paperback
on the screen from an endless telenovela
you seek what will map you back in place and time
a smile that shines for every stranger
that brilliant cut stone set just so above the window
the crow that sits so still it becomes part of the sign
gather these and with a laugh
mix them into yourself then let them go
walk away whole again but go on to lose more
repeat and repeat
the chant of refuge
the ring of the bell
the water hitting the cup
the leaves in the water
I cannot make tea
I cannot break silence
both rest in themselves
breathe
I sit beside myself, an absence waiting
not to be filled nor emptied
just there as another way to be
I watch as I lift a cup
seeing thoughts drift here and there
attended to only as the weather
no distraction from the tea
fragrant and green with a vegetal edge
perfect in this moment
nothing can happen nothing can change
the morning will always be
the blast of the train before it blocks the road
and the crows sharpening their gaze
remember how heavy time hung in the air
in the hot afternoon of childhood
moments dripping like limp leaves from the mimosa tree
disappearing faster than that one cicada brood
every labored breath took me forward
every fall a type of momentum
early lessons that any route leads somewhere
even for the dead
and when you walk down the street
that one line so sharp incisive
piercing your heart your gut the base of your spine
you leave a bloody trail
memories blending with viscera in your wake
you don’t even realize this until you stop
then cannot reach for the door
you are missing an arm a leg a rib or two
but still stand lost in wonder
the beauty worth the unseen cost
walk across a rainbow street
without looking both ways at once
for a truck that will speed to hit me
eat rich garlic ramen
so spicy that my mouth goes numb
and I grab for the can of cool jasmine tea
dress up down shave my head
black leather vest
sardonic gaze and confident gait
go to a club a bookstore a tea house
any random shop
welcome without personal regard
I can just I can just I can just
be
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.
