I want to slip into the spots of the moon
that you look at so fondly
on the nights that you are about to break.

i pray to god that the memories of me
stick in your mind like honey on a spoon
i hope my laughter haunts you
like the ghost in your apartment
i hope my name burns in the back of your throat
like all the liquor you'll drown yourself in
in memory of me

i know you feel so lost without me
but god, i've never felt so free

I walk out to the garden
in the morning again
ahhh how I feel winter's bone

while yes it is August
an it's hotter an hell
but I hear that cold wind
just a-moan
an just a tinge of bittersweetness
in how fast time has flown
and why is it I
that must always now
roam?
an why is it my
leaf that's always windblown?

sigh
but I know
no use just to wonder
I must just embrace the unknown

and yes as my aging bones
they ache too
an I feel the pangs
of missing
the sunshine an warm,

as the winds are a-changin
an the coldness now hangs
those crystalized skies
to soon form

but sigh that's alright
for Autumn comes first
in beauty to see
here unrivaled

our winter is harsh
tho poetically so,
it's the way of my life
my survival

through perilous times
conditions too much
I have now have learned to be stoic

an my father was too
to rarely complain
an I thought my dad was heroic

he worked long and hard
conditions or not,
at least in of what I remember

an his favorite of times
well it was the fall
starting here early September,

the pies and the pumpkins
the laughter and leaves
in smells and in sights to delight
the colorous splendor
awaiting the drift
covering the mountains in white

so bring on the winds
and the beautiful leaves
as everything dead becomes new
in everything seen
and in seasons to pass,
as I am reminded of you

I say a most sincere
and grateful thank you for my life.

Ma Cherie © 2017

I.

Unfurrow an eyebrow
Lie on pine needle bed,
A pond to the left,
Peach trees on the right,
Standing like martyrs
Whipped by the wind,
their scent bleeding in the air,
cracking your mirrors.
Clouds safety pinned to the sky
whisper behind your head.
The tadpoles aren't the only ones choking.
Staring back at you, unrecognized,
not by choice, but by accident,
the only friend left, rippling in the gossamer scarf.
And time pulled the rug on you, do you regret it?

II.

And what did you do when it rained?
You filled the pond with native tears,
built the calm waters where your nose hovers,
and despite your efforts, have nothing to show
but upward, empty palms crying to the sky,
a dry plead to set free your gaze.
The only thing louder, screaming against
the rattling leaves, is the silence,
an old friend you thought had left you.
Foolishly you welcome it,
set it down by the hearth,
ask where has it been,
what other lovers has it known.
You warm tea for two,
and set out enough blankets for the year,
clinked glasses and wished each other well,
warmed by the fire, settled for the hard winter ahead.

Turning to Uncle Dai I wanted to speak
but

Motes flew sticking to his hat, greasy
and soot blackened. Third generation
drivers hat made from good dirt.

Embers, hot, stole the air from lungs.
They orange stars underfoot so
surely had the tunnel transported
us to the Southern hemisphere.

Steam and boiling water releasing
valves, driving pistons after clanging
gates. Ruled over all and any
utterance
until

That single silence born on the
flash of ivory in the fireman's
face. Son of the driver. To
I playing role of grandson
to follow
and

Dai's dar something in
the smoke.