A man in a field walks through a storm.
Snowflakes on his eyelashes blur his vision.
A man in a study believes in snow,
believes in the truth of snow.

A man leaves traces as he walks.
His tracks ornament the field’s blank.
He meanders, doubles back, evading,
leaves imprints that the snow erases.
A man walks. The snow falls.  

In a study, a man devotes himself to snow.
He reads from the book of snow.
He composes wintry axioms.
“Snow:  Atmospheric water vapor frozen into ice crystals
that drop on a walking man’s eyelashes
or lie blank in an unwritten field.

“Snow is a conflict,
a confusion, a yearning.
Letters are desire.
Margins are melancholy.”

The storm disappears.
A man squints at blurred words,
Resumes writing,
Shaking snow from the page.

We are travelers all our lives.
Like the sun and moon, never come to rest.
When the body stops, the motion survives.

Time twists inside me.  I buried two wives,
their love spent on an endless road.  My quest  
consumed them, traveling all their lives.

Profligate summer mocks my waning drives.
Riddles of the road languish here, unguessed,
where my body stops. The motion survives

In my art’s vigor, you say, derives
force from what now seems the bitter  jest
that we are travelers all our lives.

My friend, before the end arrives
There must be time to seek again the west
beyond the sunset, where motion survives

in the dying sun, blazing, as it revives  
inhuman tongues that said it best
that we are travelers all our lives.
When the body stops, the motion survives.

No one really knows,
Where we go.
No matter how strong,
Together,
And reinforced 
We try to be;
There is 
A force we can't control:
Fragility. 

So,
Let's not 
Think so much.

Our nature
Eludes true 
Vulnerability.

Time waits for no one,
And the memories we cherish nourish our hearts.

It was loved ones that meant so much to us.
Mom with her infectious smile,
Brother Paul who left us far to soon,
Cousin Tom who taught me to milk the cows and,
Grandma Bessie with her soft rhetoric.
They've all left this world!

These photos of my ancestors adorn the walls of my home.
I stare into their eyes and I try to connect with their identity.
Pointing to a picture, my grandson asks, "who is this Pepaw?"
We talk about all the memories and I remark how time flies by silently.
And looking into my eyes, my Grandson says, " I would have loved to known him".
I give him all the details and memoirs of this person so he can pass it on one day.

Those we love never really leave us.
There are things that death cannot touch.

Her chaos is a serenade.
Drawing me even closer
Making me fall a little deeper
A masterpiece only some appreciate
A melody only some admire.
She says it’s messy
but I still pay attention
to every position
of every single note
in every single line.

Erase the hangover weight
   from memories bank! And
     let the heart be released
          to freedom.

Sink ugly memories into the abyss!

Till the sea sees the the scarlet
   sky it cannot not comprehend
      the  color of truth!

Abandon bad memories in the
     valley of yesteryears and let
        the heart breathe new life from
             breast
               of new mornings!

        It's not done until it's manifestly
                   seen to be done!

Glorious morning comes with stars
          of new dawn
Only put on hat of faith
        on the head of courage!

The sublime sun will soon  shine on
    on the transcendental canvas
          of hope.

The glorious moon will surely
eclipse the night no matter its
          stinging darkness!