If not in memory’s service,
do we still write the words

To leave the past unledgered
—and by token paid

(Dreamsleep: March, 2020)

God created distance,
so the wounded could go home

The searchers and the dreamers,
the ones born bound to roam

He then laid down the open plain,
below a towering sky

And set his voice into the wind
—for pilgrims such as I

(Villanova University: March, 2020)

You left me before I found you,
never saying why

Your shadow my only memory
—on the threshold of goodbye

(Dreamsleep: February, 2020)

Does your writing have a time stamp,
or an expiration date

Does it spoil in the open air,
does it falter at the gate

Will children still remember,
when they have grandchildren of their own

That what’s written once and meant to last
—those words made out of stone

(Dreamsleep: February, 2020)