We have a note from sheltered places,

Begging for us to retreat to the gratitude

Of a wood-burning stove and a *** of

Tea—peppermint—with relief smoldering

In the coals that hold our stare.

With love, you'll grow tall,
Like the mountains that kiss clouds,
Like the flocks of geese that soar
For warmth away from dark days.

With love, your eyes will share secrets,
Like the passageways that vein
Through treasured homes,
Like the meanings in lyrics meant for
A single soul.

Ten minutes to the end—
What do you do? What would
You do if in ten minutes you
Would churn away, to dust,
With Death's hand on the crank?

She awaits your ashes to sprinkle
In her garden but you may
Not be ready. There's plenty to do
In ten minutes I suppose—though
I think most of us would

Hold our breaths until the churning
Started—hoping that Death would
Be merciful and give us something
For the pain.

Will you be there
When Mercury falls,
Stripping her of smiles.

Will you be there to
Bandage wounds, some
You may have caused.

Will you be there—
Will she see you—against
The world with her.

Will you be there to
Understand the meaning
Of it all?

There could be a knock on the door
But I may not be home. It could be

That I'm out in hiking boots,
Getting lost in thought and on trails.

It could be that I am inside—

Maybe I'm too weak to let anyone in
And I sit in the dark, hearing the pleas
But I let the knocking continue
Until it stops and I'm left alone.

This could be what I want—an open
Door leading to the woods, away
From the struggle of knocking.

There's a cabinet somewhere,
Stocked full of happiness—

Jars of sugar to make the bitter
Truth less harsh. This cabinet

Contains paper—recipes on how
To make a smile appear,

But it may fade later like the old ink.

This cabinet

Has mental canisters cradling
Candy but it may leave you with

A mouthful of holes.

There's a crackle in my chest

When I breathe.

You have no cure—no one does,

Just the connectivity of

The earth will do—since this is

Not a sickness that can be fought

With anything prescribed,

Only eased—calmed for a while.

I stretch my arms up skyward

To give myself away,

But it's not yet time.