traveler

there was a traveler
who wrapped his swollen heart
in an old rag and set it down
beside the road.
he stood a moment and looked
upon this sodden bundle in the dirt,
both relief and regret
in his posture.

he then resumed his journey
and with a noticeably lighter step,
though he could no longer call to mind
his destination.

waking

in dream
with crushing weight of vision
she stood
knife in hand
before a towering wall of flesh
she knew to be her heart

every part of it carved
in weeping red
desperate letters
blazing bleeding welts
pleading pain
and blood
in urgent warning

resolve stilled the corners
of her quivering mouth
as understanding
settled

waking
shaking sleep
struggling to breathe
against the gravity of the dream
still heavy in her chest
she wonders at such a gift
of clarity and wisdom

but a sudden cold
clench of despair
brings hot tears
and a breathless cry
dies in her throat

she cannot recall
a single word

this I know

despite the facts
or lack thereof,

the
deeper
Truth

reveals
itself

to an open heart
when sought

and
sometimes

when
not.

after all

the dead don’t always sleep.

no, sometimes we dance
and sing
and laugh
and love.

yes, we love
and we dream our dreams
of tomorrows
that never come.

but what does this mean
or matter to you?

we are dead

after all.

Fear Not

Trust me enough
to let me stand to my full height
without reprimand.

Sing with me as I test
the strength and reach of my voice
uncovered,

for I must.

I have long outgrown the tiny space
marked out for myself so many years ago,
and no choice remains
but to at last become
who I am.


You must have known
this day would come,

or did you think

these

wings

were just for show?

unencumbered

pare away the unnecessary
the self-serving elements
pull off all want and need
neither requirements
nor conditions
may remain

love unencumbered
will meet no
boundary
on its way
and this
must
find
its mark

till the very last

I can no longer firmly fix
your face
after so much time,
without a photograph,

but diving deeper into memory
I can still breathe in your singular scent,
feel the exact measure of your arms,
the precise pressure and shape
of your embrace,
and rest
against the muffled thunder
of your heartbeat…

…you are here
and I draw deep of your
generous strength.


If memory must erode with time,
then let my sight go first.

This…I would keep
till the very last.

On the Day of the Funeral

a caramel cake for you.
made just the way Granny taught me.

burn the sugar
until you’re sure it’s ruined,
stir the smoking, sputtering liquid
into sweet buttery cream, then
spoon over split layers of
golden cake.

as friends come
to sit with you
in your raw, fresh grief
and to remember,

share with them a cup
of strong hot coffee
and a taste of this,

rich and dark
and sweet.

Riversong

I carry my burden
to the river's edge
and kneeling, pour my sorrows
into its rippling murk.
The flashing waters swallow
my offering whole -
no hint of hesitation,
no judgement for my failings.


I rise, raw and clean,
and watch the rolling muddy green
bear away my shame
in its rush to the sea.
A warm and tender breeze
caresses my face,
dries my tears,
and I hear...


The river sings
its ancient song
of life and death
and hope,
of every season,
of every sunrise,
of every passing storm...


Still,
I stand
and listen long
to the soft and intricate
harmonies...


The river sings
its ancient song...


and
deep
I drink.