Its the not knowing
About going,
The timing,
The means.
The dragging on
Or the sharp surprise.
There is no point
In lies but a word
To the wise,
Be ready to go,
Dont think you can stay.

Raindrops on windows
The sky sad in its greyness
Winter has arrived

*
Now the trees are bare
Now the days are short and dark
Now we long for warmth

*
I dig the garden
Watched by the bright eyed robin
Spring has arrived

**
The dry curled leaves
Falling from the fig tree
On the new wood floor

High sounds of
Jet engines,
Hot sun on
Hot skin,
Dormant minds
In dormant bodies,
Stranded animals
In soulless sleep.

Purposelees
Pointless
Beings come
To nothing.
No day is different
And our salvation
Still deleayed.

White shoes in the middle of the room,
Waiting,
White shoes marked with use,
Waiting.

Nothing stays the same,
all is change
and though it seems strange
it is so.
And time
compressed into a moment
drops out of sight
like a waterfall.
Fades,
daylight into night.
Endings can be beginnings,
redoings, remakings
as life offers its mad encores.
The same songs over and over.
At the end we are all
waving goodbye and
leaving for the dark side,
the blind side,
the lost side, or
just leaving, no more

To be with you
in a warm summer dusk,
somewhere by the sea.
We will be wide eyed
and bright eyed,
close to each other
in bodies and love,
gazing at the happy stars,
being one with each other
and with everything.

And then to go away
and be no more or just
the faintest whisper
like a soft breeze,
a falling petal,
like a wave breaking forever
on an infinite shore.

You are Pascal
the ghost in my dreams,
and you are Emil
the spirit of my aspirations,
then there is Thomas
the visiting thought
that drifts uncalled into
the mystery of my being.

So here you are
a sorry bunch hiding
in the dark corners
of my mind.

Do you think Pascal
that you are wiser than me?
And you other two,
what about you?
Silence is what you are
for I know you
have answers
or none perhaps that
I could understand
And I cannot command you
though I should.

There are spaces between
do and dream
have and want
being and becoming
intention and result

Spaces,
emotional spaces
room for love.
What is not
still becomes.
Two cells become
a being, on and on,
again and again,
coming and going.
Being and unbeing,
Where to go
and what to do
with this heart of mine
and love of you.