There we sit in our partial darkness
her in her soft and easy chair
me in mine so I can see her face
and the smile or frown residing there
for these brief moments of grace
her reading from our spiritual book
me listening, waiting for angels to arrive
in a story or words that’ll become a sacred hook
into my soul or life’s burgeoning archive.

Evening after evening sometimes so tired
we can barely hold on and avoid sleeping
right there, each old body in its easy chair
sometimes laughing sometimes weeping
she my wife, partner in this long life
both of us gathering our souls
in this splendid crucible of light.

The feeling when I jump off the riverbed and for one brief moment I am weightless, suspended before I submerge into the water

When I’m about to open a door to a friends house filled with people. The world goes silent while I reach for the doorknob

The pause I take before I’m about to say something that will change
everything

The moment when I see someone I love who I haven’t seen for a long time

When I realize I’m about to achieve something I’ve worked so hard for

When I have to make a decision between two different paths

When I know I’m approaching the time to choose, but I walk between the two
One foot in each possible decision for a long time
Relishing in my indecision

The moment when tears well in my eyelids, the pause before they fall down my cheeks
They don’t fall until I let them

The time that passes between when you realize they don’t love you anymore, but they haven’t told you yet

When I’m about to bite into my favourite decadent cake, one satisfying bite dances in front of my lips before I devour. When you can taste it before you’ve even started

The pause between when I turn on the shower and the water actually starts falling onto my skin

Consciously living between who I am and who I see I can be
She’s so clear in my mind

The moment I reach for someone’s hand

The coat I have for in between seasons

When I receive bad news
And I feel nothing
Before I feel everything

In between the chords and notes,
spaces and pauses, can I find rest
for my hands long enough to get a dose
of the muse, a cosmic moment to reflect?

And when a chord is sustained
it carries me in anticipation
of what change or pain
will come, and for what duration.  

From measure to measure
I wait upon the muse
for some small treasure
to dwell, disrupt and suffuse,

interrupt the normal routine
and reveal something splendid,
an artistic moment unforeseen
a miraculous onset unintended.

Do the angels and the divine
intervene in a poet’s affairs,
create miracles in the mind
momentarily suspend daily cares?

Or are we listening to the music and muse alone
save the few who gather around
our lines for now til we’re gone
to embrace wholly ground?

World, do you finally realize this is real?
Beyond your passions, your ups and downs, and everything that will pass,
her death is so very permanent?
Do you finally realize she'll never again walk the earth, even if you force your tears aside?
Have you finally noticed the cost?
Stop, and look at her, head pulled so heavily by gravity, held on as if by a string, a shadow of the strength she once was.
There she is, in your lap, she's twenty-one and she has taken her last breath.
All for your silly ideals and passions.
Did you know to stand for what you believe in could cause more than just your daily heartbreak?