a softness in the day, brings a flower of spring through a little rain, and in this coat of fine colors, one can pass the great things, or one can find the things so wonderful, that without them, life in itself would be bleak, but with them, it is within the soul.

My body stands out here before you;  lost in the summit of high expectations,
Covered with the snow and ice that follows the concept of freezing one
Then another, find the way to make the cold so cold, and the heated warm
Colder still.

Looking downward, over the precipice, looking at the rocks and gully
And wondering if one could take the spiders run down the side, bouncing
From rock to rock, grass to ice, feeling to everlasting feeling, and whether
It would bring one down to the basic form of figuring out, where it began.

My predilection of the practicable procurement
Of the positive information
So paramount to your perpetual planning
And the avoidance of my being perceived
As a potent prevaricator, has eclipsed
My proclivity to procrastinate.

She seemed real and unreal, all in a moments notice, that might last a minute,
Or be three weeks in seeing her, seeing her smiling and laughing, then clammed
Up tight as a wrench could pull it tight.  She wore sunglasses at all hours of the day
Lived in her apartment, no lights, felt they added too much heat, hurt her eyes
Kept the air conditioner on all day and all night, her nights were days and her days
Were nights, dark blue curtains, with the shades down and drawn, cool and cold
The television on, the oxygen machine singing its sad one note song, and when
She tired and was off to bed, that box fan sat at the foot of her bed, blowing cold air into sleep.
On her head, where her feet should have been, wrapped in blankets, noises off, but running

Lunch would come early, an hour or so, and they would line up at the desk, and gather
Their paper plates and plastic bowls, and the woman who worked there had a basket, she
Would take two or three lunches up to the folks who were afraid or sick or could not come out
And each day she would greet me, one lunch left in her basket, and with a half smile, I would take it
Trudge up the elevator, down the hall and knock on her door, let myself in with my
Key, see her sleeping under all that silent noise, put the food down, go out and lock her door.

She watched movies with Bill on Friday night, he lives just down the hall, and at midnight he thanked
Her, told her he must be off, and out the door he made his path, round the corner, into the night
A smoke and a watch at the news, then he forgot her, and found himself caught up asleep.
Saturday no one thought anything about her, Sunday was a brilliant day of sunshine and warmth,
But none thought about her, not her son, who rarely thought of anything, not her  sister who considered
That she was tired and old, not yet sixty four, not even poor Bill who watched the shows.
"Check on her", was a the word, "she didn't buy lunch", from another, "sure, sure, I will do it",
Only to find, in those cold dark rooms, beneath her covers, the fan blowing hard, the singing machine
Keeping its solitary note, her body, just her body, not soul, not glee, not glad to see you,  wrapped
In the blankets, her hair amiss and blowing, her feelings all gone, she lay there dead, to this world,
Making a wonder, feeling the cold, feeling the darkness, feeling forever gone.

Sometimes the best
Is when we feel we night have it;
The touch of it is great enough to make you wonder,
And then you do.

With mere bristles washed and head forward,
Across the glimmering water runs, the brow held high
And the feeling of being part of it all, while the
Wind sweeps slowly, but largely down the path, the water makes
The best of times, that cannot be the best of times;
For in this body lies the spirit that so overflows, and spreads
Throughout the lands, and fields and forever's pieces, and makes
Its wants glow, to you, to them, to all of them...for we are simply caretakers,
Not owners, we dare only touch those things that shall move on past us
Making life and love for someone else.  The love and life I desire.

Tess looked up and across the cake, that was full  of  colors
And icing, all pinks and fluid reds, with greens around
The middle, and Birthday Happies written so pretty
Across it, in wider icing, and small stars and twinkle bits
On its side, with just a few candles, blue, red, pink, lit
Up for all the world to see, her hands on either side,
Posing for a picture, seeing the flames all yellow
And watching her face, with a smile so bright,
That eclipsed the light of the frosting.

Her face seemed younger than ever, as they sang the song;
Happy Birthday they sang, in voices that were clear,
Yet out of tune and some that even crossed the line
Between singing to deep, some too light, one or two
Right in the middle, with candles burning, laughter
Breaking from her throat, as she watched their faces
And felt the love that was hers, all hers.

"Make a wish" they said, after someone sang
"and many more" they all laughed, and she started
To wish aloud, when someone said no, it must be silent
To keep that wish a wish.  Tess, thought for three seconds
Closed her eyes, made her wish, opened them and blew
The candles out, to laughter, clapping and cheers.

She smiled, she laughed, she kept the pace, and cut the cake,
Her thoughts were here, but not, as she considered each
One, each birthday, as being so very different, as being
So very the same.  She held the little ones, in the back of her mind
The gracious ones of heart and love came forward, and the thought
of more seemed far away, but the light, the colors, the candles
They meant so much more, than words can say.

"A toast!" She said aloud, to all those who loved her dearly,
"A toast!" she felt, for those who loved her dear, but could not be there,
"A toast!" she thought, for those who could only be in memory,
For another year, your Tess has lived, and made you happy,
"to You, Dear Tess, make us feel you in our hearts".