I've only got one bar
on my phone and there's only
one more between here and home.
Ten dollars in my pocket may as well
be a thousand. Like a penny
in the fusebox, I could make it last
until the lights go out. There's a cowboy
band playing. A wooden Indian
by the door. I don't think he listens
to their stories anymore. He's quiet
on the subject. He's quite an object
of curiosity. Instead of two-stepping
all night long, maybe I should take
that Indian home. Use the last bar
to call Coleen. Tell her to put a ***
of cowboy coffee on. We'll tell stories
of our own. Sing songs in the old way
about better days when we were young.

Two hundred years ago and yesterday
a sailor wrote a letter in longhand,
entrusting it to the road
back to his beloved,
where dawn was breaking
at the closest port of call.

A century ago, a shy and lovely
mail order bride wrote
to the man who would be her husband,
in a land entirely different from her own.

In her delicate, sincere questions, from a
heart wrapped in ornate brocade layers of
kimono silk, she hoped to begin to know him.

Relationships formed gracefully, over time,
an ocean of water and thought intervening.

Water and air may be there
keeping souls apart,
until they are meant to be united.
 
Now, two beloved young friends have found
in each other a twin flame, first seen shining
in the virtual world of today. With only letters,
or flares or morse code, these two would have
seen, and known, that light within one another.

Souls destined from very early on.

My loving eyes have seen them, decades from now,
leaning into one another, silver hair entwined
as they rest their heads together on one more journey.

I defy anyone who might challenge me,
seeing these two blossoming in love
from a virtual, chance encounter, 
to say that life is any less real
in the ways that matter most,
when it is born in abstract space,
in this manifestation of a reality
that is in itself a metaphor for
Reality.

Reality, is living,
deeply living,
the inexplicable,
unfathomable,
exquisitely simple
complexity,
of being fully human.

Whistle a Dixie marching song
And wave the colored cotton
Remember days when we were young
Lest old ways be forgotten

From Robert E Lee and freedom rides
Was birthed our greater nation
Where trust in liberty resides
United with a passion

Old voices echoed through the South
Emboldened with a fervour
As children full on sated youth
Implore us to remember

Judge not a man but by his deeds
Lest lessons be forsaken
Presume to know naught of his needs
The less to be mistaken

The past has passed, the future lies
Unguarded and unguided,
Whose liberties shall be denied
Has yet to be decided

Whistle a merry marching song
Let each man show his colors
Our children judge us right or wrong
By how we treat our brothers

You're a bird
With a string
To me you
Sew the sky
together
With more
string than
stars
in the early
dawn
Unknowingly
When things
die
You put the
sun away
And became the moon

Death alone is full of grace                    
Death smiles through a blind man's face
Death can hide the greatest shame
Death can wipe away your pain    
Death does nothing for the weak
Death can help you hide and seek

Sorry,

Allow me to apologize in advance.
For what you ask?

For ruining this great thing we're going to have.

I'll be the friend that falls in love.

I'll be the friend begging to be more than friends.

It'll be me that takes your affection too far.

So yes I say sorry,
and it's not for "no reason"
It's because I already know how this is going to go.

I'm sorry that I'm going to fall in love with you, you're just making it really easy to do.