I mean this ‘Rigmarole’ word well.
I place it on your path like flowers, rain
For you to see and know that
In your comings,
Goings beings fleetings in the greater Swirl,
I feel your wonder in the day-to-day
Of all our days.

Looking up, I set my mind to wander
From the work in front of it towards
A deeper now.

The rain, the endless exhale of the laptop fan...
And then I touched the paper. Found a tunnel
Back to me.

My page days turn too quickly.
Flighty meanings - reach to catch a word.
Half seen, half felt, half heard.
But might have saved for me a bright and lovely second.

Perhaps a fleeting truth is only right
For this, our running whispering,
Grave paved life.

And - yes, you're right of course
She should have stopped the cough
Before imposing it on you
So sleep was killed;
So furthering your grinding sisterhood
That you were stealthy-taught
By raising villians dead,
Whose ghosts still shade your brows.

Help me cross my poorest borders. Now
The dry white clay and sickly tufts
Of many grasses seen through dust,
As we are very soon
To know,
Are ending.

Here.  This one will do
As well as any.

Sometimes I think that the only thing
We will take with us
Or leave behind

Is poetry.

Fragments

Of what did not make sense in life

But was beautiful.

Your words flowing to the point and to
The furthest reaches of this space.
I am not in this place now but float
To possibilities we have no time no time to meet

The coffee steam entwines an elegant image,
A nuance that swirls the room to life.
And I am made calm and bright with this
Breezy logic that entrances and - truly -

Transforms.



For JM.  March 2008.