I feel empty.
Like a wishing well
Without an echo

~~~
"But I’ll know my song well
before I start singin’"

Bob Dylan
"A Hard Rain A-Gonna Fall"
~~~
thought this poem down years ago,
while hiking in a nature preserve,
never wrote it up,
never knew why

I'm a
top-of-lungs shower singer,
a hiking poet,
dripping italicized words from the
four corners of mine eyes

my voice,
*****,
my song,
a work in progress,
my brain, says,
challenge,
asking

how dare you sing words,
you know
that I know,
don't know your song well,
well enough,
to start singin'?

the flowers and the fauna,
sea grass, lagoon, deep forest cover, beach,
butterflies hiding in bamboo stalks,
the deer, the fox, the chipmunks

all start laughing at me

"look upon us,
a single preserve
is our shelter,
a thousand years in the making,
our song has hardly begun
we are a forever
work-in-progress,
just like you

so sing of us, sing of you,
learn the chords as you go along,
finger the word notes,
try out variations,
realize this unfixed change,
is all of us
preserving

that friend
is indeed,
your song

you know it
well enough,
that's why
you have
never stopped tryin' and never stopped
singin'
~~~

July 2012 ~ 2015
Mashomack Preserve|The Nature Conservancy,
Shelter Island, N.Y.












    






~~~

http://www.bobdylan.com/us/songs/hard-rains-gonna-fall#ixzz3gFdhKEW1

No worries about betrayal,
She is so much spiritual,
We are equally loyal.

For now all is very well,
'Coz we decided our fixture,
Needful is the social approval.

nobody knows
the troubles
you've seen

nobody knows them all,
maybe some here/there,
scattered pebbles, strung together in a too tight choker,
as if two hands grasping your  gasping neck,
as if you needed a reminder
of your own hands in slow mo,
cutting off of the oxygen supply,
to merest trickle,
the insufficient
be well

hell
no one knows the precision past,  decision nature
of thine owned Sisyphus boulder,
the one you alone shoulder

so you grin~grimace inside,
when they sincere, but casually bell,
un-beknowning, un-thinking
wishing you one mo' time,
an extra seasonal

be well
~
ah, well intentioned,
but you're getting older,
tireder from the loader,
each time it's tossed your way,
falling to the pitted bowls bottom
all these
be well wishes

it's like a glass of water trying to
fill a well mostly dry,
quench a bonfire of exhaustion,
that only grows stronger,
feeding on its own inexhaustible supply
of good wishes innocently poisoning

I have two* sons.

I hope they

be well