nobody knows
the troubles
you've seen

nobody knows them all,
maybe some here/there,
scattered pebbles, strung together in a too tight choker,
as if two hands grasping your  gasping neck,
as if you needed a reminder
of your own hands in slow mo,
cutting off of the oxygen supply,
to merest trickle,
the insufficient
be well

hell
no one knows the precision past,  decision nature
of thine owned Sisyphus boulder,
the one you alone shoulder

so you grin~grimace inside,
when they sincere, but casually bell,
un-beknowning, un-thinking
wishing you one mo' time,
an extra seasonal

be well
~
ah, well intentioned,
but you're getting older,
tireder from the loader,
each time it's tossed your way,
falling to the pitted bowls bottom
all these
be well wishes

it's like a glass of water trying to
fill a well mostly dry,
quench a bonfire of exhaustion,
that only grows stronger,
feeding on its own inexhaustible supply
of good wishes innocently poisoning

I have two* sons.

I hope they

be well

I,
a stranger never to be seen,
a million miles from the scene,
smile and weep,
loving the shallow for its deep,
finding amazement in the complexity
that only humans have
the capacity to commit,
all of us captains of the capital we store,
in the small hallmarks of every day living,
and in an overdue, catchup e-transmission,
a well wish comes true

a poem born,
a kindness to myself,
the best gift of and to,
those who are both,
well,
friends and strangers

who remind us that hope too,
is a
well

3/30/17 8:58