Tin the loose grip of his father’s,
off to the park
to play catch.
The trust
of the trees,
believing in April’s
green promises.
The faithfulness
of the moon,
undressing
quietly behind a cloud.
The joy of the butterfly,
it’s life a celebration
of silent beauty.
This is Amy,
bringing me the peace of
of a sleepy ocean
with nothing
but her smile.
There’s no desire in Heaven,
no wind,
no rivers that run
out loneliness;
there’s nothing hanging
just out of reach,
like trying to save
a falling leaf.
And, when to that dateless night I go,
my love will bathe the world,
quiet as clouds releasing snow.
This is the autumn
of my life.
My hands turn red
from the chemo
and my legs area skinny as leafless trees.
I know not what the winter holds but sometimes I pray for it. The great sleep.
There are no leaves at my feet and the winter pale has already set in.
I have no angles anymore; I walk the walk of trees:
solemn, patient, hungry for the great sleep.
I now know the stsrength and steadfast gentleness of trees- home to all who seek them, no matter what season.
My brother is in his springtime, as are many of my friends.
I look to the sunlight about them with faith until i’m blinded by it’s love.
One moment
dies into the next,
and the next moment
is always smaller.
an inch
graduates to a foot,
quiet as shadows merging in a crowd.
The alligator’s roll
and I’m in it’s jaws;
the water is deep
and he’s not tiring.
This is the deep,
This is the place
where doors
move away
and the sun slams
into the horizon
with a metallic boom.
This is the deep.
Languor becomes
a nervous thing,
a fly on a windowpane.
These are the depths
where there’s nothing to be seen
in the clouds anymore.
These are the depths.
The waters are deep
and I’m in the teeth
of The gator’s spin.
The deep
lives and breathes
in the shadow of love,
where the wind blows cold
until the stillness finally freezes over.
Upon our last breath
the doors of a courtroom open;
we’re here to account for our death
and the many things we’ve broken.
Perhaps we’re appointed a lawyer
who’s seen every step we’ve taken.
A bald, overweight man,
who, for eternity, feels forsaken.
“Order in the court! Please rise,”
says a bailiff.
The others unbend,
rigid shoulders, stiff.
Maybe there’s a vending machine
down the hall that only sells Moxie.
‘I’m supposed to be dead,’
you think, the dark finally caught me.
You sneak through the huge courtroom doors
and race for the soda machine
only to learn you have no wallet,
for here, there’s no currency.
You straggle back in
for a chat with your lawyer-
He tells you the worst thing you’ve done
is rob your parents of a responsible son.
“The sleepless nights,” he begins to say,
“were hell on earth to them,” and he turns away.
You remember that you didn’t care;
your conscience held no sway.
Now your before the cloak in black
slouched behind a bench.
He’s smoking a Cuban
filling the room with its stench.
“Stand up, son, this is your accounting,”
his voice, deep and hypnotic.
“I see mostly wasted time here
and a laziness that’s chronic.”
Your stomach twirls and jumps.
“Your mother died early, because of you,”
shouts the ethereal figure.
“now it’s time for you.”
Like a snowfall in your mind,
all you can see is cocaine.
All that it took,
and it drove your mother insane.
“I’m guilty, your honor, of waisting my life,
but in my defense, I had no idea why I was born.”
It was a lie, but I had nowhere else to turn.
To tell the truth would mean being thrown to hell and to burn.
He looked at me and I looked at him;
the cloak was too loose and he was too thin.
“The verdict has arrived,” he bellowed,
though I saw no jury.
“You are sentenced to life,”
I melted into the floor.
“No, you idiot, you can leave through the door,”
Maybe, just maybe, those were the doors I walked into this world through.