He rises every day
before the sun,
thinking about
the people who will come,

What maladies they bring,
what aches and pains,
what ailments and sorrow,

He wonders
what there is
inside of him,
and if there is
inside of him,

Something
that can bring comfort to
the people who will come.

Yet when they arrive,
one by one,
or in twos or threes,
or maybe more,

He doesn’t question
who he is,
or isn’t,
or what he can
or cannot do,

He simply greets
the people when they come

And lets the way
find him,
the way that touches life
in every one he sees.

I spent so much purpose
determined, without knowing
perhaps instinctive
surely stubborn
but not blind

Being the center

because I could
bring direction
to the spin

for a while

But then my time had passed
or so I thought when I felt
the ground dissolving
without forewarning
turning solid into
nothing
and knowing
into uncertainty

leaving me an empty shell
or so I thought until I learned
that my time had actually come
but I was unprepared

I reached out for you
too late without forewarning
in ways unrecognizable to you
and hopelessly misguided by me

but you looked away
because of who
I had become
and who you wanted
to be after all you
saw of me

And yet you stayed
near but not close
present but not here
just out of reach
by either one

So now I struggle
determined, and well knowing
against my nature
surely stubborn
but not blind

I feel the warmth
of your fingertips
and soon I'll grasp
your hands

if you keep mine
in yours I will find
some way to make
these battered legs
take me to you

Out of the craven sky
the flow of molten bittersweet

-- no purity in these
that catch your lashtips
as you wrap your arms
around the blanket fog
and breathe in dew
from distant mountaintops --

You gaze beyond my eyes,
beyond my tethered dreams
to pierce the wound that bleeds
with molten bittersweet,

And from these drops
a rhythm beats
'til nothing more,

Only you
Only you

I sailed a laser
in the horseshoe bay
of an island
in the San Juans

The wind was blowing
from the south
at twenty
knots or so, it felt
like fifty on my cheeks

As I headed upwind
and felt the vessel heel,
my toes dug past
their strap,
I leaned to level 'til

My face was sprinkled
with the spray,
my hair was trailing
in the wake

And geese did glide
not far away,
just above the crests,
honking as I flew along
and just behind them

Skipping now and then,
my windswept face
like a stone

It happened in a memory,
not so long ago,
one that had escaped me,

a glimpse of
what I used to know

Far off in the distance,
a thousand dreams or so,
a winged syren beckons
of land, of hope, of home 

An alluring vision rises,
between port bow and port beam,
above the windward gunwale,
above the Devil's seam 

The main and mizzen struggle
against the howling wind,
the staysails strain
against the sheets
hauled taut and closely in 

But the course we follow
cannot reach our destination true 

We must tack and then again,
until our bow is set dead on,
and find a steady
wind and fair  
to fly above
the pounding waves,
to free the maiden's hair 

Just beyond the bowsprit,
a thousand leagues at sea,
the flying jib will lead us where
our spirits find their peace

somewhere deep
into the burn

a step mistaken
no intention
on a wicked moon

the silent cry
of an abandoned soul

treads lightly by