A Brief Visitation

Under an eave between house and wood shed
It rains seas of gray and weariness and I
Alone captivated in a field of tobacco smoke,
Watch the wet persistent birds
With their damp persistent wings
Fly back and forth,
From canopy to feeder
Gorging themselves on sunflower seeds,

Fruit fumed slowly with hickory permeates
Bringing back summers now spent,
Past purchases where the sun
Was nothing but an ambient metronome
Ticking in rhythm to the beats of adolescent fervency,
Oh, sear seen afternoons where rivers clung optimistically
To bedrock and the birds serenely dry sung
Illimitable hymnals and the young sang along
Knowing exactly the melody

There is a flash of lightning
An expansion of air,
Feathers flutter instantly
An unnoticed second heaven makes an appearance
Only to vanish with company
But persistent as always
Wings of sangria and pecan shortly after
Return and gorge
Stuck maybe in a world far from my own

To Identify Time of Death

Mostly diluted
Ever so
A tad bit acidic
I was given a chance to feel
Instead I got intoxicated,

Left knowing but distant
Always unable to conceal intention
Drowning in vegetative stories
Remember when?

Loss is a virtue often experienced
Yet so rarely noticed-
Does nature understand
That I feel death as ferns in freezing weather?
As blissful white clouds floating
Such that heaven seems earth-bound?

A shoulder to breathe
Sober up nestle nude against cedar tree trunk
Ever so fleeting
It makes sense doesn’t it?
It is absence that becomes the burden
The memory that provides relief
And this body of mine
Is nothing but never present,
Stuck turning rich nectar
Into watered-down interpretations of flowers
In bloom, delaying impact inevitably
A world concocted with jaded connotations

Life has been made
Continues to exist
Going to cities and learning to keep secrets,
People have spoken to this face of mine
Loves lost and renewed
Though a daydream it seems

Waiting to wake up
Upon the snap of two brittle fingers
Will I remember the past four years?

Maybe Hope or A Huge

The trees

If you turned the lights off
Let night saturate atmosphere as embers of
A once roaring fire now smolder beneath
A blanket of ash glowing just so softly,
It might look like a bustling city,
From a few miles away,
Grasping at silhouettes of oaken statues
Reaching for a familiar hand
The space between main street and this palpating heart
Has grown so distant
I tell my heart to slow down
Driving back home to where lights
Shine a different context,
Not to get excited
A memory once sung has buried itself
Once providing strength
Now wormholes long and hollow
Leave me fragile and petty
Not to get excited,
The lake has evaporated the fire
So going 55 seems more a punishment than celebration,
Not going to the infant incandescence
The pyre waits as debt and birthdays fill empty space
After all
What burns better than dead devotion?
Eyes lock to the sky as we get closer
Pretending for a little while longer
That the memory of being alive is tangible
And my heart beats fast
And the city climbs atop the statues
Glowing just so softly
And something’s waiting for me

Restitution

On the hem of a river
Behind the glowing lights
Of a ‘54 Bel Air dashboard
The constellations glisten
With barn owls and reclaimed wood,
Rusted to earth
The ferns have replaced frantic minors
Staring faceless into their hands
Drinking the stagnant sips
Of watered down whiskey
Hiding beneath the backseat,
Silhouettes project
Themselves over skin
Almost a match,
A body between
Memory and transitioning
A feather falling
Believing itself to be a leaf,
The car doesn’t move
Yet we are stricken motion sickness

Sediment In A Wine Bottle

Estate sale personified
As swigs of sand dwindling through
Kaleidoscope irises, slipping sunsets into palms cut
Acting in assumption that such wounds
Close, fade and then ambiguous definitions of normalcy
Can be resumed again
Acting in assumption such pain halts
And forgives the body it accumulates,
Clothes become too big
Fabric promised protection
Sworn, left unnoticed
Dedicated life to living beneath stale socks almost
Visible but kept dark and almost given a chance,
Embraced auctions for relinquishing redemption
Based offers observed pretended to be valuable,
Feign colour polarity
Pallet set
Sleep on hoping prosperity flourish
And wither slip into an unintentional hibernation
Waiting for-but wake up it’s time to move on
Waiting for-but wake up
Quoted as in decline
Liquidate property as hospital visits

Probably The Revitalizing Warmth of A Maple Soaked Sun

Against the warmth of a shoulder
Breathing rivers in
Knees posed as naked
Cedar branches bent and reaching
For a sliver of sunlight-

Autumn

Quivering
A bolt of wind blows
Striking a loosely woven quilt of wheat
Vision is temporarily forfeited-

Ran off
To open orchards of punch drunk

Summer,

Dizzy
Falling beneath wolf river apple trees
Might the grass grow through our backs?
Might there be a chance
We can become bits and pieces of nature?
To bloom then die
To change states again and again
To transform into ferns
Sprouting in lowland libraries or lilies
Floating in an anonymous pond,
Rediscovering the other realizing we were
Always closer than initially understood-

A slight shift brings comfort to rest,
Leaning against the concrete
Base of an old rope bridge watching
Leaves fall from branch to be carried
Deep away
Down stream,
I thought about what I might miss most