a pandemonium
of parrots

ridiculously green
against a perfect pale blue december sky

prattled
and shrieked with glee

they darted as they will do
this way and that

well above the ginko trees
still holding high in their yellowgold

remember this

when counting blessings
or giving thanks

sight and sound
heaven sent
or heaven bound

remember this

a hum in the head of the moon

a word in the wash of the stars

heard well above the din
brightly poured forth

red roaring light
in one last lunge

and done

a part           of yourself
apart            from yourself

dusted away
once upon a shelf

it has been a year
since i last walked the trail

so much of it now is overgrown
with summer vines briars wild grass and the lack of foot traffic

i was familiar enough with the way
and could follow along with the low river

i recognized the elbow of it
where the shadow of the heron flew

i remembered where the deer tended to settle in the blue shade
where the rabbits scurried into the brambles

much has changed in a year
or so the keepers of such measurements might say

it is only the stones who laugh at such peculiarities
it is only the blue of the sky who shakes her head and thinks

why are you still so in love
with the sound of your own voice?

a ****** of crows
clearly agitated by my presence

furiously called down upon me
from their shaded branches

with so many gathered in one place
i guessed that they had discovered

something that had recently died
a great summer storm had swept through

the night before and perhaps an animal did not survive
the wilds of wind and rain

i stood there a moment
trying to locate their prey

but could not
so i quickly moved on

leaving the birds to their work
we are all old souled

and kneel humbly before
the ever-balance between life and death

is there any more to understand?
is there any more to ask for?

sunday wakes in the center of the city
black lives matter plaza begins to stir with each bus offering more and more humanity
a homeless man stops to pick up a used cigarette from the sidewalk
he blows on it, places it gently in his pocket, and walks on

at the st regis hotel, i sit behind a 12 paned floor to ceiling window
it is framed in dark beautiful wood and curtained in heavy red velvet
i am waiting to have breakfast with my uncle
he is half blind with macular degeneration and his leukemia and prostate cancer are in remission
he is always well dressed and punctual
over $33.00 plates of scrambled eggs and smoked bacon, we discuss the past, the present, and the future
my uncle filters life through the signs of the zodiac and is always curious about birth dates and character traits
i keep my opinion about such things to myself

in the corner of my brother’s front yard stands a magnolia tree
its trunk and boughs are coated in pale green lichen
its crooked branches steadily offer baseball sized white blossoms of impossible perfume
all are too high for my reach
there is a large rock just beside the trunk that makes for a fine bench and from time to time i sneak away and sit there
such trees offer much in the way of ancientness and wisdom and I glean what i can

my uncle holds truth in the charts of stars
i in the trees

perhaps we are both crazy

so suddenly thundered
ripped from sleep

tipped tossed tumbled
out into the under

of such endless grief
and rubble

now
we pace and pray

now
we scratch and claw at wires and crumbs

now
we shriek with absolute loss

yet all the while
wishing and waiting and wanting

to rise
to rise
to rise

on the same side of morning
we walked toward each other

we did not share a common language
but there did not seem to be any fear  

we all wear our scars for the world to see
what did you make of mine?

at the very last minute
just a foot or so away

your orangeblack body disappeared
into the tall grass

all day i have thought of your death
and how you are now through

to the next truth