I awoke as I often do from the depths of sleep
immediate and startled
as if escaping a nightmare
yet the dream is always tranquil
I don't like complete darkness
a slight crack of the door
allowing in a bit of hallway light
is just enough to make out the room
I check the alarm clock and see that it is 3:33
a time often repeated as I am called to consciousness
from peaceful rest
this happens quite often
so often in fact that I keep a recorder bedside
to turn on before returning to sleep

I spot something in the far right corner
two small pale orbs
about a foot off the floor
slowly, almost imperceptibly moving upward
the crack of the door begins to close
there is no light save for the two...
wait...these are not orbs
they are eyes
and they are fixed on me
and they are no longer moving upward
but towards me
ever so slowly...methodically
I vaguely see the outline of it's head
long and narrow with a tapered chin
I cannot only feel, but literally hear my heart pounding
everything becomes intense
the darkness, the quiet, the fear
like a child I bury myself beneath the thick down comforter
and begin to pray
but before I can whisper 'Our Father who art in Heaven...'
I feel the comforter being slowly pulled from just beyond my feet
I manage a weak scream and a final whispered plea before the pounding stops
"Who are you?"


there were no signs of a break-in or struggle
no items taken
yet the police have no explanation
for what they heard on my recorder...
"I am death"

I wish to know your dreams
Gatekeeper to imagination
at the doorway of consciousness
you hold the key
for so many years I have followed you
into the cosmos
to return enlightened
a better man
join me on this final journey
guide me to the other side
take my hand into forever

a quiet man he was
the smiles were rare
signs of affection
non-existent
yet his soul came through
his goodness
his quality
his concealed intelligence
I can see him in his sleeveless tee-shirt
cigarette in right hand
a pen in his left
doing the New York Times crossword puzzle
at the dining room table
he would watch Jeopardy
and reel off the answers
one after another
under his breath
he'd survived 3 heart attacks
diabetes and emphysema
years of working 2 jobs to support 8 children
but the alzheimers was unforgiving
and eventually wore him down
my Father
like his son
had buried a facet of his early years
his gift for verse
which I discovered unbeknownst to him
before his passing
in the early hours of one recent Winter's morning
I heard him call my name from the foot of the bed
I take it as a sign that one day
we will share our love of poetry

dreams are fleeting
like ghosts in a jar
thoughts in a pocket
snowflakes in your hand
all appear so beautifully captured  
within the walls of sleep

I manage to walk a few miles every 2 or 3 days
in a failing effort to loosen the muscles
and ease the soreness of bad knees and a dissolving spine
we no longer discuss when it will happen
but rather when did it happen
exactly what day did the line go straight and then turn downward
ever so slightly
there is some comfort in having friends with the same affliction

I am pulled back to the Ocean
drawn like an addict to the smell
every group of gulls
riding the shoreline
every hour slowed

I feel energy there
as the Sun lowers
as the children and fisherman return home
as the whispers of those gone before me
are carried by the ocean breeze