when you would have thought that nerve had gone, worn down,
when you would have thought that sense was a nub, tuckered out,
given a well deserved rest, after all, it was the best of each of us

maybe a glow, flickering in and out, a summer sun between clouds,
the occasional pang pinging, radiant, radiating in forgotten places,
luxury good, can’t longer afford, once, given with a happy reckless

crazy how love stays with me, low grade infection, ready to spread,
bud by morning, afternoon full blossom, black wilt by next daylight,
can’t decipher, finally decide, these tremors make old age life worthy?

absent, but memorized slivers, old poems, drive by glances of places,
hurt like hell so briefly, double over, no one notices, so fast dispensed,
it’s crazy how love stays with me,
and it’s a crazy that tastes so good,
hurts so awfully good, so badly bad

perhaps that is why behind my back,
not to my face, they whisper,  call me,
the guy, still crazy after all these years,
just still crazy after all these tears, or just,
                                 still crazy

thick fog starts lifting, slow but sure
the horizon shows off pink and orange
earth gratefully sinks into gentleness,
a familiar face forgot for far too long
the timid smile of hope peeks out from the clouds

cool air billows, the calming waves
breathe away the aches and pains
bright sun kisses gently, warm
eyes lifted to the heavens
body lighter on the ground
battered, bruised, and bleeding, but
roots find their balance
push forward through the soil
confident, start remembering where to go
shy petals show their faces, soft and fragile
at first it's all blinding, with eyes the sun forgot
but bright color swells and they are beautiful again
the flower idly sways, in unfamiliar bliss  
its petals, roots, and leaves drink in
the golden honey rays of warmth
almost thankful for the winter's harsh and bitter brutal
torture
now spring is so much sweeter

THE SMELL OF TIME

my shadow
stick in hand
leads me through streets

as if flesh and
blood were unreal
the cobbles try to trip me

the sun
falls like rain
making golden the town

a squashed pomegranate
its seeds scattered
on a yellow patch of light

the smell of time
almost unbearable to the dead
and to the living

an unescorted soap bubble
ventures across the street
bursts on a cat's whiskers

the cat black as black
lives in its own private time
independent of the world's

for a fleeting second as I
pass by and appear in
a reflection on a brass door ****

an old woman
drowning in a shadow
becomes a shadow

her violet eyes close
time winds backwards to
her first kiss

my shadow escapes
leaving me all alone
wondering who I am

a ghost's laughter
time is
nowhere to be seen

*

All the disconnected joined up in an emotional join-the-dots...what the mind in camera mode elects to notice...the happenstance of life...an emotional osmosis...culminating in the death of the lady with the "Elizabeth Taylor eyes."

I had passed by her when she was alive and when I returned I heard people speak of her death...I didn't know her....but she was said to have been a great beauty in her youth and was much sought after and fought over.

She had just eaten her rice congee with rousong and zha cai as she did everyday at the same time.

The details were all totally independent of each other and were busy just happening to themselves. I was only aware of the woman's presence in passing and when I passed back that way she had vanished and a crowd was in her place debating all the details of her life....hence my knowing of them and so all the beads of thought that can happen at a moment's notice got strung as a necklace of happenings and her death which I hadn't witnessed except from overhearing the witnesses speak of her provoked the last three lines and how easy it is to be here and not here in the time that Time evaporates. The cat with the bubble on its whiskers was the last thing I observed before I entered the circumstance and commotion of her death.