Thursday, August 17, 2017

If This Is The Last Song

because this may be
the last time
I sing this song
sincerely and reverently
in this place
that knows my voice
and follows my stride
through braided seasons
seemingly without end

I sing
as the cardinal
opens the day
radiant in golden hue

I sing for you
as the song dances on air
filling the intervals between
sound and silence

I sing 
because this time 
shall be unlike any other
echoing in the place

memory reserves as its own


from where have you come
where do you go
what do you carry
whom do you know
circling round corner
nestling in crevice and seam
scattering seeds over meadow
gathering fragrance from blossom and bloom
swaying beneath your stride
ever restless and impatient
running full circle wide
pausing to gather your wits

before driving ever on

When You Leave

when you leave
I will smile

as you turn
away and go

while these words
sketch the outline

of where you were

Le Sacre

time held me
full fresh lush
and green in
golden vibrant spring

songs rang to
a silent pulse
throbbing beneath my feet
from a presence
sensed unseen

a heady fragrance
rides on air
from blooms diverse
in shape and hue

the pungent loam
of opened soil
yields a generous bounty
of fruit from
the fertile earth

let us be one
among all that moves
playing to the music
of the intimate dance

of time and light

To Those Who Ask

to those who ask
I have little less
than nothing to spare

tell me

if it is enough


a pair of Fritillaries
float drift and glide
dancing on air
weaving interlaced designs
around one another 
in arcs
of becoming
on an invisible strand
like lovers consummating
in a spiral 
of forgetting

who they are

Let's Take The Long Way Back

let’s take the long way back
beneath shaded oak and aromatic pine
athwart the weathered split-rail fence
bent into the warp and woof of nature’s wiles

past the old place
with its long front porch
and massive beams holding memories
of laughter and dancing feet
in moonlit rooms resonating with sounds of
family and friends fading now
as we roll past the giant willow
bending shade into the shape of long afternoons
drawing water from the well
with the fresh coppery taste
so light and cool on a summer afternoon

we glide into the blue-amber glow
of the western penumbra spread long and wide
with faint lights glimmering in the valley below
melding light and shadow into night
as we drift on wheels crunching gravel
like popcorn between our teeth

the hour is right in its time
and all that might have been
trailed behind and lost the way
back to what we remember

of days that are no more