They took my God away from me
Told me I couldn’t be loved by you,
Can you believe it?
Your believers killed me, killed you
And I was to worship the blood on my hands
Instead, to sink in all the shame inside
And take it as a lesson learned.

I have value
It comes from within,
I know it's enough
I feel it under my skin.

It vibrates from me,
The power I hold
I'm special,
I'm something to behold.

I know I'm sensitive
It's something I used to hate
But now I'm embracing it,
There's a reason I'm this way.

So I stick to my routine,
I don't want to give up
I may fall down at times,
But I will not get stuck.

~
Or migrated pod
       Or fleeing refugee
            Or corban
                  Or carbon dioxide
                       Or yubitsume
                            Or van Gogh's ear
                                 Or black Friday
                                      Or lazy evening at the carnival

                    (Tomorrow has already started)

Or free range
     Or gated community
          Or breast exam
               Or storage crisis
                    Or fallen leaves
                         Or germ warfare
                              Or temporary file
                                   Or permanent wave
                                        Or thigh gap
                                             Or physiognomy
                                                  Or soap made of heroes
                                                       Or multiplanetary living
                                                    
(There's a floating graveyard between this world and the next)

Or logical fallacy
     Or irrational number
          Or elementary analysis
               Or college guess
                    Or cardiopulmonary resuscitation
                         Or extrasensory perception
                              Or ten fingers and toes
                                   Or a dozen eggs

                  (They say there's strength in numbers)

Or fifth floor, corner room
     Or high as a kite
          Or bellwether
               Or mingled with bells
                    Or police sirens
                         Or loitering around in silent films
                              Or rule of thirds
                                   Or tombs of second-hand kings
                                        Or face in the rain
                                             Or pareidolia

(Otherwise, at first light you might be smiling...)
~

Had they known the kind of man he was,
While he was retching
Into the oxygen mask,
EMTs might not have been surprised,
But they were,
When he tried to clean himself,
There in the life flight bay
As the rotors beat their way.

Stubborn to the nth degree,
Prouder man I never knew,
Fastidious in most his ways,
Embarrassed that a stranger
Should clean up his mess.

"I'll take care of it, Art,"
The flight nurse said,
"It happens all the time!"
He kindly lied,
And cleaned the old man's face,
And fit another mask,
And dialed the oxygen to full.

What he thought then, I cannot tell;
I hope he dreamt of going home,
Or heading to the barn another time,
Of being strong and well,
Or McKellar singing Handel's masterpiece;
I hope he felt a little wave of peace
Before he left his body, tough and old,
Before his mind felt coming cold,
I hope his final breath was a sigh
Of going down to sleep,
Of going down to gentle sleep.

As we wait beneath the mountains
For the passes to clear.

The river fills in torrents
As the horses and the men grow thin.

Feats of winter thriving
Fade in the springtime starving.

Birds fly high above,
Finding open water beyond us.

We wait in wonderment.
The dogs sense danger as we eye them.