I am officially worried about you.

The night is ink
It moves around me
with it's broken heart

A weird fascination with swirling water
Paws on seat
he peaks over edge
to watch
the coriolis of his day
wash the concerns
of corona
a world
of death—
away

Commit
Three small tokens of remembrance
wrapped in copper, silver, gold
Oddly shaped that qualifies
as curious
They would like to see your dreams open
on Mondays
in the morning
I tell them
spring is only
painted upon waking
Bend the air for us
they plead
I tell her
how words come and go
Ideas the stuff of stumbled over
Strewn without a thought
to where they land
Tangled in the sheets
of unmade distance
to the bathroom
and back to bed
I want to linger here amidst
the ephemera
littered
Loss of words

Good Friday 2020
_____

The wind groans with reluctance
Sends April snow in squalls—
a tossed and careless shawl
worn long and tired with this Day
No glimpse of sun
A dirge of snow surrenders on the grass
Winter making one more pass
among us
gray with grief

Due east of Rat Island

alone

Appropriate in name
Appropriate to this, the day

surrounded only
by the jealous surf
with hateful waves
surrounded by the howls of “crucify!”
“He is not ours!

They are not ours!
We are not ours!”

Send them all away
They belong to the island
to the ground
from which they came
Not for us to cry and claim

Their abandonment

Wooden boxes fill the
trench—
A Babi Yar
of our own doing
so it seems
and yet again...
Golgotha

In the bitterness
of heart there is

an island--

Hart—I think they call it
Both a prison and a graveyard
of NYC

A place “despised and rejected”

rejected of men
an island of sorrows...
and acquainted with grief....”

      “...I see myself an ancient Israelite.
       I wander o’er the roads of ancient Egypt
      And here, upon the cross, I perish, tortured
      And even now, I bear the marks of nails....”
                                   --Yevgeni Yevtushenko

...inscribed on the palms of His hands....

Again—

There is an island
where scores of the forgotten lie
He knows them all by name

Today it binds my tongue
with bonds of sadness
It has traveled in the tides
of time to find us

Our Babi Yar has come for us
to take us to Hart Island

Unmarked
Unloved
Unclaimed
_____

https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:BabiJarravijn.jpg…

New York City Mayor Bill de Blasio acknowledged that more people are being buried at the city's potter's field, but stressed that only the bodies of the unclaimed would be buried there.

In my mind
They bloom always
...along the fence
of Mr. Chauncey's yard
who cut and bundled them
for us to give to Mom

And suddenly
purple has a fragrance
I can see...
and another name
that follows me
forever
infusing home
Insisting on it— everywhere  

...though it wavers
in the years
in clouds of Lilac bubbling
Memory's palest purple
amidst the golden-green

...I am a child again
running down the hills of May
dizzy
in bee buzzing
Floating
in the lush warmth
and parachutes of fluff—
Next year's dandelions aloft
in the ends of this year's spring

Turning ferns to wings
twisted into tee shirt sleeves
We fly by sheer will to do so
Pretend to hide our nests
in forest of the lilac

despite the danger ahead of them,
they still choose to—
risk their lives to make sure others are breathing.
stay outside of their homes to comfort the distressed.
work tirelessly to serve the vulnerable who needs their service.

to the frontliners,
we sincerely appreciate your heroism.
we are grateful for all that you do
for our country.
we are in awe of your selfless service.

you are indeed our heroes.
the world needs more people like you.
thank you for existing.