Time As A Journey

All this time
my love for you
has been my anvil
my heart
a pounding hammer

Here take this thing
this shiny silver thing
this fragment of poetry
and if you can
hold it to your heart
in the times when you are sad

I wait here
in this place called the past
until you grow tired of this Time thing
and cast it off as a silly notion

When I liked to swim after dark

I turn around in an empty room
and face the window
The window where the sun is setting
Your dark blue eyes deeper and darker
than the sky now rich with stars
Add to the lines in my hand
Rippling the lake in the distance

I have this picture of you
folded in my billfold
Cracked
broken
shattered
Old photos are so . .
fragile

There was a time
When I liked to swim after dark
Now there is something luminescent in the waters
Somewhere below the silvery surface of consciousness
Leviathans stir the deep waters
The movement of their mass
ripples and breaks the sky into a mosaic of
life moments and memories

And the cicadas whirred

I was opening my hand in darkness
Opening and closing my hand
Thinking about all the things we did
Things we thought about
things we’d never do
And the cicadas whirred . . .

After dinner we broke out the recliners
In the dimming light, tiny rivers of lightning
coursed the belly of the clouds
snaking toward the setting sun
Forking like the veins and arteries
the roots of my heart

I felt your hand on my heart
your smile was not pretty

And the cicadas whirred . . .

I stood as a tree

Dropping . . .
Falling . . .
Somewhere below the quicksilver
surface of consciousness
Leviathans stir the oceanic waters
of the sleeping mind

The movement of their mass
ripples the tenuous film of awareness
And fragments the sea
into a mosaic of swaying reflected images

Shadow soft healing touches
on my face
Water droplets
on fresh green leaves

Gentle caresses
Velvet whispers
the breeze across the waters

I stood as a tree
on the mountain side
Seeking only
the sun’s golden glow
Drinking light
through silvered leaves
Drinking water
through a thousand hidden roots
Moving only
to dance with the Wind

Glacial
Geologic
Everlasting

Speaking Hope where there is no Light

The Magician moved
His hands a blur

He twisted Light out of Darkness
Conjured songs out of memories
songs filled words dark and true
and she sang

Songs of the function of Fire
the function of Rhyme
Speaking Love’s resilience
despite betrayal and spite

She sang
of the human spirit surfacing
from depths deeper than faith
where leviathans swim

Sang
of Order from Chaos
Life arising from the breast of Death

Speaking Hope where there is no Light
Miraculous deeds worthy of gods in times like these
New discoveries that lift the definition of human
like those of song and fire