Then  memory so
Real
Like a day in the
Park taking
Pictures
Of your three
Year old daughter
And son still
In diapers
Relapsed
Into
Guilt loss and
Black
Stood without purpose
That loneliness
Divorced
OK
Two times a month
I see them
And you know
A man
Is not supposed
To cry.

It's
Only the times
The bells chime
And the doors open
But
No cuckoo comes out
That
Worries me
Now

Strumming a guitar with -
my ceiling fan brother
He's one hell of a drummer
Keeps time like no other
A few crickets are now added to the -
mix
Nocturnal musicians just like me ,
lovers of jazz getting their kicks
Feet tapping time stirs my coffee ,
the diddy goes where it needs to be
Perfectly timed shots of firewater -
ties up this midnight arrangement
Buzzing , smiling , creative and free* ....

I stumbled across a rock on the lake trail
It waited five hundred years to catch me -
off guard
The forest was busy with life and death
A laughing raven sensed my loneliness
The heirs to grasses which once fed -
the American bison brushed against -
my trousers
Hope eternal caught my eye in the form -
of late winter flowers
Conifers fought the invisible wind
Air filling a vacuum , rushing to fill -
a void in every direction
Theoretical madness , constant confusion
Every unique image forever lost* ....

The Birthwaite Ghost is on the prowl
See her glide hear her howl

Laboured footsteps can be heard
plodding on without a word

Drifting on just like a dream
bringing fear to the independent living team

Perhaps a resident from the past
coming home to roost at last