In my heart,
a road travelled, enough,
but still overgrown and walked
in pensive  solitude
leads
to a green field of stones
that looks out over white chopped seas

To here I come when my soul is
perplexed beyond belief
when my heart is torn and bruised

This is my field of ragecand grief
where I stand and howl at injustice
beat my breast at lifes inequity
and weep slow salted tears of regret

Today again I come to my field of fallen friends
and etch your name ernesto,
the ded poet, who lived a thousand lives

And I rage and rampage, and set war in my heart
against the gods who took this voice,
this warrior this talent....friend.... and father.

But all is sound and fury set to the wind
to be dispersed as froth and rain...

As my soul quiets, my tear fall softly,
thinking on your moons, your love,
for them, and you love for your life...

Too soon, for you to go...
but the words, you have given them
and us, as well are jewels, cut and faceted
treasures for the darkest of nights.

Empathy: watching
someone draining their venom
without sampling it.

I went home, it was a long dry stretch of road
walking backwards toward the sun
the red heat dripped and pooled
rested in spaces of backbone
a white hot desert, sand blown
I went searching
beyond denial - to feel
I found lost parts of me
beyond the parch
and peel.

When the sun slants
on wings smelling fish
fly the cormorants
to where the home is.

Their memory is a lake
with bountiful food
bill's all the take
that makes living good.

In between the catch
when enough seems done
find a dry patch
hold the wings to sun.

If wishes were heard
it's all I would want
to be turned into a bird
and what else but cormorant!