It is a furiously humbling experience
to be helpless before the gale
and exposed without cover,
knowing that cotton takes roughly a millennia to fully dry.

Even though I know that skin is waterproof,
in the moment it is hard to envision a future
where water is not dripping salt and sweat
into my mouth,
even if I know that just such a future
lies just minutes over the horizon
beyond the rain haze that blurs the twinkling city lights.

My shirt clings to me ever tighter as the storm waxes wroth;
the heavy fibers seem to cower from the far-off flashes of lightning,
the thunder to which we never hear.

Freshwater tears course unbidden down my face
in forks and rivulets, washing away the sand and grit and anger
as I trudge through the blowing sheets of broken glass.

And then, the inconceivable future dawns,
and as quickly as it had spawned,
the downpour abates,
leaving behind a sodden figure plodding slowly
through the newly-dappled sand.

Come find me here
on this beach of dreams,
where the sand is black
in perpetual twilight,
cloaked in constant night.

Come join me here
'midst the salt and palms,
on a vast expanse
of twinkling shifting glitter,
that mirrors the sky.

Come seek me here
'neith the starry canopy,
where the sea breeze blows
and the air hints of brine
and age and memory.

Come to me here
in the soft moonlight,
where the shadows dance
and the wind whispers
"close your eyes and be still."

Tears fall
Thick and sad.
Body weak,
Wracked with grief.
It is all too much.
Too much.
Breath comes short,
Reason flees.
Sadness descends,
Iron grip tightening.
Empty heart,
Prayers unanswered.

All too much.

A motherly touch,
Strong embrace.
Warm shoulder
Absorbs my tears,
Supports my weakened frame.
Whispered words,
Audible strength.
A finger
Wipes away my trailing bitterness.
For a moment,
My tears swell anew.
Too much love.
Mother, your love is all too much.

Behind these hazel eyes
are deep pools of memory.
These wells of liquid glass
recall all too well
the tears these eyes have shed.

These eyes remember.

But look long and deep,

long...
and deep...

and you will find no tears for you.

No, the doubt and fear
you see are not your doing.

The tears of grief and sorrow
were not shed for you.

These eyes have wept
no bitterness on your behalf.

They remember frustration and disappointment,
but not because of you.

They have seen anger and regret,
but not by your hand.

There is pain in these eyes, yes.
But you did not plant it there.

These eyes have never cried for you.

I lie sprawled on the dead crusty grass of Winter,
breathing in the frigid night.

A passing car ambles by,
headed for destinations unknown,
a mystery on wheels at this hour,
its eyes ripping the velvety shroud of darkness.

I lie in the darkness
beyond the periphery of its piercing gaze,
until it rumbles by and on until it is gone,
and darkness settles once more.

The wicked wind whispers
soft lilting nightmare lullabies
that float through the frozen forest branches
into my numb ears.

I lie in the darkness,
entranced by the bitter breeze’s melodies,
until it blows by and on until it is gone,
and hushed stillness falls again.

My body shakes
with deep rustling tremors,
to defy Winter’s icy kiss or maybe just
to break the mesmeric silence of the night.

I lie in the darkness
as the cold steals the breath from me while I tremble,
until it gusts by and on until it is gone,
and a modicum of warmth returns to my bones
and I am still.

I stare up and away into the night
until my eyes water and freeze and blur
as I stare at one star and the rest disappear
into the folded shadows of the sky.

I lie in the darkness,
a creature of the frigid Winter night,
enfolded in its quiet embrace,
oddly soothed by its anesthetizing touch,
lost in its starry splendor.

A sharp bark wakes me.
Tears begin to fall.
Distant growls ring,
tinged with pain and laced with loss,
reminiscent of an all-too-distant past.
It roars and bellows anew
as though intent to bind me to this wakefulness
so I might be a witness to this spectacle of grief.

A fine stage night makes,
for in deepest darkness
the enunciations of anguish are all the more potent.
I lay and listen to the falling tears,
the rhythmic backdrop to this soundscape of sadness.
The fury ebbs as the night deepens,
but tears continue to water the earth
long after the thunderous voice has resigned itself to silence.

We commit one of our own
to the wind's embrace.
May the flames that we kindle
and the smoke thereof
carry their spirit up and away
above the flowing waters of the Bagmati,
above the monkey-coated walls and roofs of this place.
May they seek repose on the breeze.
May they find peace on the wind.
May they rest eternally in the sky.
And may we all remember
the fervor of that life
that burned as brightly
as the pyre we light
on these banks in the sun.

Light fingers
brush across a shoulder,
standing hairs on end.
A gentle caress
sends shivers
skittering down the spine.
A cool touch
sets the mind
racing.
But this touch,
so hollow,
so empty,
a vacant echo
of affection,
untrue, deceptive.
Counterfeits of love,
icy fingers trace
veins of sorrow.
An insincere embrace
stirs the mind,
inspiring false hope.

My own hand,
my own arm,
curled around me.
A vain attempt
to bring your love
to where I lie.

On silent wings it flies
across the jeweled midnight skies,
cloaked in darkness.

Flitting past hill and dale,
always hidden by Night's veil,
it is circling.

Patiently, I lie, wait
for its embrace in this hour late,
so I may rest.

Anon, it alights near,
bringing comfort, quenching fear.
sleep has found me.

I hear her Siren song
and, knowing now it won't be long,
I surrender.

Lonesome heart,
when the past is past, and the past lies dead,
let it lie.

Now is.
Then was.  Tomorrow shall be.
But now is.

Too soon, what is becomes what was.
And what will be becomes what is.
But what was remains what was.

Before now lives, it is dreamt.
And after now expires, it is remembered.
Neither is substance.

But the now is the real.
Neither aspiration nor memory,
it is the vivid flame of certain present being.

The now is the turning point.
The cusp, the peak, the bleeding edge of now.
Dreams realized, memories recalled, the present.

Dream?
Certainly.
It gives now purpose.

Aspire?
Most definitely.
It gives now direction.

Remember?
But of course.
It shows now progress.

Reminisce?
Surely.
It shows now passion.

But you must be that now.
Always here, ever-present now.
Fiery, passionate, vivid now.

For the colors of now
outstrip the unformed hues of dreams
and the faded pale shades of the past.

The possibility of now,
more real than dream-shadows,
more potent than prospects left unrealized.

The only real time.
The only possibility.
The now.

In the deepest depths of darkest dreams,
I'm sure that no one hears my screams.
But while in pain and much distress,
You came to comfort, guide and bless.
You brought me out of grief and pain
and let the ice from my veins drain.
Your warmth and love upon me fell,
erasing thoughts of sin and hell.
You raised me up above my grief,
my tenure there mercifully brief.
Now that You're here, I'll never go;
I shall not sink back into woe.
I wish to stay forever here
beneath Your wings - so far from fear,
from painful strife, and sadness deep -
guided, watched over as I sleep.
Father, keep me safe.  Hold me tight
so I may never fear the night.

Oh World!
Consume me.
Take me up,
that my tears and sweat
may fall, not as blood
sprinkled upon my shoes and the rocks,
but as sweet cold rain upon the land,
that others may drink
and quench their thirst
as I was unable to slake mine.

Oh Earth!
Let this cup pass from me
that I may vainly toil no more.
let me leave these ***** hands,
these leaden arms,
and these dust-covered boots,
that I may find some sweeter rest.

Let me be done,
so I may lay in greener grass,
gaze up at bluer skies,
walk in quieter woods.
Let me sit in peace among the boughs
and remember
all the work that I have done,
the toils of every kind,
all the songs I left unsung
the melodies I left behind.

It is not yet dawn,
but still, I awaken
to the soft patter
of nighttime summer rain.

Gently it falls,
the warm breeze
ruffles the trees.

Branches caress my window,
reminiscent of some nightmare
now long gone.

Startling at first,
the rustle of branched fingers
soon melds with the soft drizzle.

Soothing and tender,
Nature’s melodies lull me
back to sleep.

I reach,
Fall,
Roll.

I lie,
Twisted,
Broken.

I rise,
Hobble,
Grimace.

I follow,
Obedient,
Helpless.

I collapse,
Fatigued,
Spent.

I cry,
Salty,
Bitter.

I feel,
Lost,
Weak.

I pray,
Steady,
Unceasing.

I crave,
Relief,
Deliverance.

I am,
Still
Waiting

*I find,
Love,
Comfort.

I am,
Unfettered,
Free.

I softly tread down marble halls,
my bare feet echoing on white stone floors
that have seen millions of souls
just like mine.

I pass over the stoop
that has felt the endless touch of foreheads
prostrate in humble reverence.

I stand silently by an altar,
coins and offerings scattered at my feet
before this monument that is
the silent ear for so many unknown prayers.

I can almost hear the silent supplications
of all those that have come before,
endlessly echoing from these golden walls.

This place spoke to each of them
just as it speaks to so many today,
just as it speaks to me.

Though my knees do not fold
and my lips do not kiss the marble floor,
though no muttered scripture falls from my tongue,
though the songs on the air remain a mystery
and their lyrics tell stories I do not know,
though I bring no offering, leave no coin
at the petaled base of the altar,

even so,

my mere presence here
has bound me both to this sanctuary
and to these strangers.
To their prayers.
To their alms.
To their songs.
To their hearts.

Every heart
that has been bathed
in the golden light of peace and charity
is forever brightened
and strengthened and soothed.

And now, my heart is counted among them.
Many hearts,
One love.

My breath escapes,
rises in a column before me,
dissipates into the sky,
as if drawn away
by the frigid night air.

It wafts skyward,
spirals and swirls and fades,
drawing my eyes
to follow its ascent
upward, ever upward.

As I watch it dissolve,
melting into the sky,
I behold the spread of the heavens,
stretched before me:
a priceless tapestry of light.

Pinpricks of brilliance
strewn across a canvas
so exquisite that the night
crystallizes my tears
before they can even fall.

I blink, forced to lower my gaze
from the shimmering splendor above.
I shiver in the cold air, and smile,
the stars overhead mirror the crystals
in my eyes, both now frozen in my gaze.

Shining moon,
what beckoned you
from ‘hind that hazy cloud?
To show your face,
to shine down bright,
to cut the night in ribbons white?

Glowing moon,
what summoned you
from Earth’s far side this night?
To cast shadows
amongst the trees?
Illuminate the haunting breeze?

Radiant moon,
what called to you
to tend this quiet dusk?
To kiss the grass,
to blanket all,
to glide through window, home, and hall?

Perfect moon,
why hang you there
adrift in starry seas?
To light my way,
to watch me sleep,
to guard me while I’m dreaming deep?

Silent moon.
No answers come.
A quiet companion
who does not speak,
but merely shines
bright shafts of beauty through the pines.