The smoky spasms
of specters passing
fill my teary blurred
vision;

Forced phantasms
of former friends
and family
which I remember
quite fondly,

The young girl
across the street
who was missing
a few teeth,

The old lady
and old man
who brought me up,
helping when they could,

The elderly grocer
of Kregor’s store
where I purchased
penny tootsie rolls,
and three cent
laughy taffy

The long dead dogs,
the trees,
the memories
of a younger me
living dangerously
hanging upside down
thick branches,

these spirits haunt me
partially paining
but mostly reminding me
of the good times.

He smiles with the graces of crumbling eyebrows,
with wit, megalithic in the cavern behind
his unformed eyes; i lowered mine, seeking
elsewhere—that here as i sleep, he is formed
from half memory.

The better part of me
remembers him in increments, steadily handed

our orchard, our healthy fruit. His arms overladen
with fibrous molten undulating movement,
a cacophonous cocoon for my madness’

half love. The truer part of me
remembers him as mountainous, thunderous,
a storm eating into the distances. arms
kneading throughout time, becoming. stone.

So how can it be that my life
has not become a sweltering series
of orgiastic celebration?

I mean, I know from the recording
of my original passion that I've been
baptized in the obligation of surrender-

          "come to me woman and tell me
           are you of the sun or the moon
           come to me man and tell me
           are you of the land or the sea
           cause I love you dearly
           and I must know"

And yet, here I am still burdened
by the routines and the fears
for my children's fortunes.

I'm grateful and all, no doubt,
but I still refuse to hear death's call
until you and I perform our
          scandalous, sacrificial acts

that will force death to approach
with at least a little more candor,
at least pretending to be my friend.

does connection have a purpose
creating memories and special little jokes
digging deep into another person's brain
into their soul and heart
is there truly a point
when every connection comes with a catch
a stab in the back, perhaps
or indifference towards you in the end
what's the reason for a lover, a friend?