At just the right moment, to my surprise
you are sitting to my side, and watching intently
as the man says all the things, so very true,
coming through the screen that connects me
to the larger world.

Your left hand reaches out and covers my right
I can see and feel your hand
even through your death.
I didn’t know this was possible
and yet
it was the most familiar, natural thing
like water running through the rocks-

He was telling a story of an unwanted birth
and how the child became
like a black hole
needing to take the light of others
as she was never acknowledged in her own.
It was your true story
and you showed up to hear it.
It made me cry.
I wish it had been different for you.

Now you have gone back to
where-ever it is that you are, these days
I still feel your hand
I wonder
will I ever know that kind of touch again-
is that even possible?
A lifetime of being seed from seed
having known your heartbeat before
you birthed me free
the incredible weight of being
and the joy, too-
the curiosity and wonder,
all in that brief touch.

Perhaps you will pay me
another visit, sometime.
you are welcome to do so-
anywhere in time and space
I will know your touch
and accept it
there are no words needed really
as that moment says it all
and then I will be here again
as is always the case
alone and full
like the sky at night
waiting to see who
comes calling-

If you came home, every night
with the smell of oil paints wrapped up in your hair
and turpentine
and linseed linseed linseed oil
I would never have to move again
transported
to the place where it all begins

I don’t need to see
what you’ve created
I already know it,
I see the sparks jump from
tree to tree
this is how the world is set on fire
looking down into my palms
there is a glow
that I had forgotten about
until you brought your smell
into my home

led on by this
against the vale of shade
one person sees and says:
good luck with that! you’ll be eaten alive!
Who do you think you’re kidding?

The next one says:
we are born to suffer, born to die
the ocean wave is just too large
swim brave swimmer, and I feel for you
but against this tide there is no
homecoming to be had-

and the last one sees
the glowing shine of my outstretched hands
making my face an open book
showing just one step or two, and no more than that,
and says:
Is this Light? It must be Light!
The Darkness was a lie after all!
She shrugs her way out
from beneath the oldest cloak
she opens the gate
that doesn’t shut again
and looking down
her hands come to life and light her eyes

jumping quickly tree to tree
unnoticed by most, beneath their load
the spark runs fast
and you hear laughter
as against all habit
the sleepy world is set on fire again

In the very moment of committing
in the beginning of her dive
she whips the curtain away for
just a moment
and the vast huge
chasm filled with golden light
shoots out
and everything I have ever known
is reduced to the moment
where I am drawing breath
but had to stop-
we rarely get to see something
so very sudden
so very beautiful
the entirety of things
encapsulated in this
dear old woman’s glance.
She time travels
the lark is on her shoulder
Alberta is just outside
the voices of schoolmates still ring
and we are so blessed to have
the eager ears of
all the children that
have ever been.

and out of the very
corner of her aging eye
a younger ****
from far away
makes an overture of unknown nature
the novelty alone stops the bus
and all the old women on board
clutch their large handbags
close to their sides and say aloud:
what does this mean?

maybe nothing at all
maybe just what it looks like
maybe it is the Universe come calling
placing a new plate of wets in a new location
in a new form on a new platter

soon, her nose will take over
and she will know to eat or not
and what to think about it all

there isn't really anything to fear
the bus is still moving in the right direction
how could it not, as beautiful as it is
stop now and then
and garner new riders
the ones that see the color
and hear the music
and how is there not
a rightful place for one and all?

that is a given.
there is no problem
it is love itself
dancing through the mirror or self to self
and in the end
nothing at all but
a blessing

My sister had a very
disappointing relationship
with our father
growing up
and always

she got her wings
as part of a rather large
tribe that know this song
and has done her very best
to carry on being
disappointed with men
along the way-

ALL MEN ARE THE SAME
she has said to me

I’m not remotely like
the characters she rails against
and I tell her so.
it just happens that
the ones she finds
sure seem to be that way-
I have to give her mad props
for her picker:
exquisitely fine tuned.

She gives me **** about
my stuff too, as she should
calls deep into my darkness
to the lie that I have grown to believe
the one that has led me to adopt
the dance of the meadowlark
so long that I have forgotten it
was a tool, a ruse,
a survival technique and not
really who I am

dancing in a pointless circle
with a wing that appears to be broken
luring no one in particular
away from the meat and substance
the overflowing bleeding heart
the tears and mostly the rage
and fire
and creativity
that is really me.

We are old now
and apparently successful in our delusions
but not really quite so
because we were born to be just smart
enough
to nibble away at the edges
and want to put on the shining suit
of light
with wings that really work
with eyes that choose to see
with hands that will touch
everything, all at once
and rejoice

now it is time to eat lunch
I wonder what she is up to
there are small things I must be about
and in the background
unavoidable
and yearning
the open blackness that means
another dimension is nearly here
waiting to be born

We have our third talk in the month
and I tread clearly, carefully lifting
and placing each statement
and each assumption
still, I am covered in filth
I wonder if this will feel
clean again

you’ve been separated from
your wife of 35 years
for almost two years now?
You never mentioned that:
yes, I never wanted to tell you.

you’ve been to jail
and your story doesn’t really add up

you’ve lost your mind
in bits and pieces
I called you back to shore
but still
you make me afraid to breathe

no wonder she left you
at 3am while you slept deeply
no wonder she just left
a short note on the door

there is too much denial here
too much control
too much shame

I am so sorry for you both
humanity is such a bore
a chore
and so very painful
in all the smallest details

is it a sorrow that a ridiculous habit
is shattered after
an entire adult life has been spent
pretending it was real?

In the end, I don’t think so
but then, I don’t have to hold
that note in my hand
and I don’t have to give up my house
and I don’t have to look in the mirror
or see her face in the eyes of my children

I am mostly stunned
given where you come from
that you missed the lesson on trying
to live the truth

now you have bound me not to tell
others that know you
now I am complicit in this small lie
it makes me feel ill
too sick to even overeat
and that’s saying a lot

and I love you still
and know you are but
a person
and I have read of this
and heard it all before
just not so very close to home or
rather
not so very steeped in my own
assumptions

so the lesson is mine:
wake the **** up and
own THIS feeling
and learn to never ever
close your eyes again

your efforts are heard: savor it.
living alone is a choice...there are empty parts
a lack of other(s)
I feel it often.

I have become accustomed, oddly enough-
to being solo.
not anything that I had imagined for myself:
an adaptation to rejection.

successful, but not to my
personality.
it is part of who I am.

I am stunned by expectations I hear about.
I do not have these sorts of problems.
this is part of my efforts of self care.
there is a lot of leaking that goes on
I have to bolster my own light within.
the heart lives, by breaking over
and over.

I like to read about sensitive people
who relate to their plants-
how do they manage?
I could have asked my family
but they are dead
as you know.

I am happy to encourage generosity
but there is no reason
to cling to expectations
I would rather make stuff
or write
to take care of animals
and stuff.

I would rather do this than chase
people around to be my friend
I guess
I am getting old now-
I would just sit
and not say a word:
what else can be said?