That last time
we talked, my son,
the very last,
unknown to us,

never ventured
on profound subjects,
(as they do in films
or heroic novels)

we conversed
on the mundane:
how did you sleep?
What was the food like?

or trying to explain
the puffed up limbs
and pain( having
complained to the nurse

about your visual state)
when you did you pass
***** last? and some
such usual things.

You were tired
your eyes were closing,
and unknown
to either of us,

you were probably dying
for the first time, then,
without priest
or prayer or amen.

What was it like
that first time?
Revived, they
called us in,

while they set you up
to machines and monitors
and wires and tubes
and all such things.

You were comatosed,
eyes closed, lying there,
hands at your sides,
puffy and discoloured.

Did you hear us talk?
Did you know
we were there?
We held your hands

at the end, my son,
wanted you to stay,
wanted you
to be with us,

but death took you quickly,
far and away.

When I was a small child
I had no brothers and sisters
And was often alone.
And sometimes,
Although as I grew older and began to loathe silence
This happened less and less frequently
I would have a thought
And it would ring in my head clear as day
And I would stop and wonder to myself
REALLY wonder
If I'd said it out loud.
I would convince myself that of course I had.
But that odd moment of doubt
Would linger in the pit of my stomach
And then I would decide that the only way to dispel the unsettling feeling
Was to say something-anything-aloud and prove,
Once and for all, that I could.
And then, of course,
I'd be sure I'd said it
And able to move on with my life unbothered.
So I would speak
Deliberately.
I would draw breath, and say whatever sentence popped into my head
And then I would wait a moment,
To be sure it really took.
But
See
Since I was all alone
Within that moment,
I became unsure all over again-
Had I REALLY said anything at all?
I'd meant to say something,
I'd tried to say something...
But had I?
There was nobody to ask.
There was no way to check.
It created a distinct sense of... otherness.
Of strangeness
That wouldn't leave
And within moments I would be so mixed up
That my skin would crawl with this paranoia
That maybe
Just maybe
I didn't exist
And I hadn't said anything
Because something that doesn't exist can't have a voice
To say something WITH.
This would continue
Until, hopelessly upset, I would run downstairs to find my mother
And cry to her
For what she thought
Was no apparent reason.
That, friends,
Is a big part of why I
Loathe
Being ignored.
And also probably the underlying reason
That as a grown adult, I never sit in silence.

For four days in May I'm going into the wild
Four days in the woods sleeping under a tarp
Why? Because for four days I can sit and write
Of day time views and noises of the night
No one else will be there to disturb my thoughts
No one I will need to support
Just me with the sounds of insects and birds
Four days without worries,  four days without cares

~

“Float to me”


Changing directions
In a forestalled motion,
balanced on the side of truth while practicing losing my step
in the rushing waters of life…
I slip

Clinging to a lone branch
I find it blocking the sky, pulling shadows from mist
and teetering on the edge of someone’s sacred sanity

My eyes,
stern and fashioned of blinded occurrences that swallow
the light of day and the masks of sympathetic stares,
focus

For in the distance,
tapestries woven of heartbeats glisten on the ripples of a naked moon beam,
motioning to me in pleasing movements a’ dance on its reflections

Passionately in syncopated volumes she whispers,
louder than the hope now swirling in the rising swells
and broken slivers of drastic wastelands which
sit vacant in my mind

“Float to me”,

I hear as the cool waters so elegantly gather about her perfect feet
Her toes grip the rocky floor in such beauty that I fall helplessly,
allowing nature’s crest to take me, singing me sweetly to this pristine dream

Disbelief churns in fountains of doubt fed wishes and desires
as I submerge in the beauty that is her
Engulfed by white capped rapids beating faster…only my heart
She, with silken fingers plucks me from the surf,
her fragrance, lilac and magnolia, intoxicate me

We stand, shades of the deep sky and starlight beacons illume her face
As fireflies play in the trees and
our lips meet, my pulse floods with fever

Her desperate thoughts invade my elated mind and I agree
Together we plunge to the depths of forever and I slowly drown in her love