I am above ground
looking down
I behold
a canyon or sink hole
where people are gathered around
a shiny Rolls Royce deposited on the ground
by some unknown force.
Somehow I make it to the floor of the hollow
but soon I fear being caught there doomed
and look for a way out of the gloom.
I see a pathlike outcropping on the southern wall
a few others follow as I walk to it to make the crawl.
One old foot at a time
I carefully climb
but eventually I must stop
the outcropping severely narrows near the top,
grass and dirt within sight,
but too far for a safe berth
I cannot pull myself up to flat earth.
I look down the steep side
the fall would be two hundred feet if I slide
I feel dizzy and scared, a void in my groin.
So close to success, near safety and normality
yet now discouraged
wrapped in doubt and fear
where to go from here?
It seems nowhere but in the abyss
all my difficult progress amiss.

The music of the day
plays silently in my psyche
and without realizing it -
on my better days I bring it alive -
a bright piccolo of a smile or kindness.
On my shadow days
it is the bass fiddle in a minor key
begun from depths of pride
played in the lower register,
the bow slowly sliding hubris
across the thick strings.

the garbage can is out back
top tight to contain the stench
clean on the outside
a model can among cans
but inside drips my hidden waste
next garbage day I’ll have more for it

The sun is wondering
if it should dive into the sea
while two wanderers still play
on the edges of the dark
beckoning it to stay
just a little longer.

For just a short distance away
the bright gold lingers
in the shallows
where they could tiptoe
into the iridescent rippling.

The shimmering surges
on the margins
where the waves have lost their energy
and the tide is a glassy placid.

I am wondering
like the sun
if it is time to set
or if I should wade into the rippling light.

I like wakes.
Seeing her body
revealed her latter-day unsettled life
and her female beauty.
It was a final goodbye to this woman
whom we had not seen in decades.

But the wonder of that gathering
was the friends of a previous season,
the smiles, hugs, and  laughter,
together recalling memories seared -
some by pain and others by joy.
Meeting husbands, wives, and children
of people we had last seen in their youth
in just a moment told the sum
of their maturing.

Praying together,
hearing the minister lead the rituals
with humility and gentleness,
reminding us of her life and love,
brought healing
of hurts long heaped up with the church.

This gathering of souls
mystically bound -
in an instant -
pierced layers of scars
wiped away
with the balm of forgiveness,
waking our spirits.

Maybe that is why it is called
a wake.

One moment I am high
with the light of soulfulness within.
The next I am down
in the clutch of desire
and enticements.

There’s a concert in my back yard
solos and duets all day
a circus with acrobatics
clowns painted with reds, blues and browns
just feet from my perch
here as I peck on the  keys
the stars fly in
then flit away with ease
as if to tell me:
you can’t hold me long
with your seeds and your eyes
we are free to dive the skies.