his hands

two pieces of wood
gnarled worn torn
by the wind
and the rain
and the sun

his eyes

two dark marbles
of laughter
of sadness

his voice

deep
soft
ancient

i almost did not understand him

how are you this morning i asked

can’t grumble sir no sir can’t grumble

we de
part

and asc
end
and

o    nce
o    ver
o    ceans

we se
ek the

f    ine
l    ine

of the      hor
i               zon

in the
end

we de
sc
end

and ar
              rive
a            live

in a new light on a new road to a new beginning

what makes the music so?

what sets a sound inward
or outward?

what lifts the notes
from the page?

are you a voice
an instrument
in between the silences?

what does the bell
of life
ring for you?

the hummingbird
all function

and form
impossibly winged

and ricochetting
from one cupped sun

to another
i stood my ground

and imagined the percussion
of its tiny heart

a muscle the size
of a grape seed

there it was
right before my eyes

the bird lingered
for a moment

and then nudged off
into this uncomfortable world

there is so much work
yet to be done

the church bells
sound the hour

but it is the leaves
we turn to

for time
watch closely

at the ghosts
and bones

of autumn
the final breaths

heavy with yellow
and red

we release
like all colors called

and collected
we release

it came slowly out
of the switchgrass

and weeds
plodding

reptilian black
against the light brown dust

of the bike trail
i rode up to it

two feet long at least
from head to tail

so think skinned
and heavy

and that menace
of a mouth

we quietly eyed each other
before the snapping turtle

rambled
down the embankment

and slide
into the dark water

of the canal

we still        behold the ancient
                     gaze at the wonders of heaven
                     marvel at what the past holds up to her mirror

the crows took exception to the man
being so high up in the tree

and they called out for some kind of justice to be served
in reply the chainsaw sighed and breathed

as boughs and branches found the ground
leaves already unsettled with the grey of november finally fell free

make sure
to
take the time
to
take the time
to
watch this world that whirls
in
and around you

red the last leaf
clipped undone

and swept
across my path

what will bend
will bend

what will break
will break

scrapescrapescrape sings
the god of all things

and then her silence says
bend

and then her silence says
break

and then her silence says

and the stone said

don’t forget
to touch

and the sun said

don’t forget
to breathe

and the rain said

don’t forget
to cry

and the ocean said

don’t forget
to scream

and the falling leaves said

don’t forget
to laugh

and the snow said

don’t forget
to sleep

a man walks towards me his arms clumsy with books

i hold the door open for him and notice that the books are gideon’s bibles

i overheard a nurse say yes i know he is dead but what was the time of death?

a priest walks briskly by past the elevator choosing to take the stairs instead

in the room across the hall from my mother’s the nurse always has to ask

sir?

do you know where you are?

you are in the hospital

rest area
                                                            ­            each
                                                ­                st ar
                                                              ­        reaches
                                                 ­   us
                                                        her­e

after a storm like that the birds remain silent and the sky is scrubbed well beyond blue

dead branches litter the streets

a man deeply worried is out looking for his missing dog

a few minutes later the dog bounds out of the woods and runs to me

together we sit and wait for the man to return

a bough bends with the weight of a squirrel

the hydrangeas are heavily sponged with rain

i run my hands across the top of them and then wash my face with wonder

where once i watched a family of six deer rest beneath the shade of a tree now stands the skeleton of a new house

how the hand of man presses nature away

the headless body of a bird and thousands of cicada corpses all dance into decay

a cool breeze keeps knocking waterdrops down

birdsong begins to stir

before me two chipmunks dash crazily across the road

deer tracks fresh in the new mud their thick scent still hanging strongly

they are close and i have only just missed them

the world wakes and unwings

i breathe

and just to be sure

i breathe again

consider the chemistry             of time
the delicate machine                 of sunearthwindrain

the secret language                   of when
to harvest the heart                   and when

to wait

meanwhile
we remain

by the gates
straining

to catch notes
from deep

within cathedral walls

despite tender hands memories go dark
and we come to rest beneath unfamiliar moons

each church
green glassed

and steepled
will open its doors

we will all rise
to celebrate

those who have gone
before us

and those who will one day
walk us

to the bright white lights
of so many stars

these days paint gray
each frame of film

dulled steel drains all color
from the sky

slate scrapes the skin raw
for what winter will wear

but wait
what was that just there?

did you see it?
the very tip of that cumulus kindled

a single note
of ignition and possibility

so take a deep breath
and remember

if you keep your heart open
something beautiful will step inside

our time together
has drawn to a close

you have had
your fair share

and i mine
there were fair moments

when i was soft
with sorrow

hard
with loss

but there are many feathers in a wing
and you may have only one

it is time to find my way
through the sky now blue

before i am done
i must make my own path

to the resting sun

there is a light

there it is again

i reach for it

and hope it holds

it does

and i begin to walk my way out

of the darkness

ruffled
into rust

dust wind
lifted

drifts
of scraps

puddle
into piles

spill
and clutter

into corners

let us          testify            that everything is an energy
let us          agree             that kindness is a necessity
let us          embrace        the details that call light forth

nampula
wakes at first light

she bundles brightly
and brooms the streets

breathing the blue sky
she walks her brother to school

half naked
she sits in the dirt screaming

she cements shards of glass
to the tops of walls

when rain turns the roads into rivers
she builds bridges out of boards

she carries charcoal
on the back of her bicycle

from the side of the road
she sells puppies from a basket

she balances her belongings
on her head

resting in the shade of a tree
she breastfeeds her newborn

at the checkpoint armed with an assault rifle
she asks for our passports

playing with her friends
she rolls old tires down dirt roads

she moves
through the brutal beauty of chaos

nampula
sleeps at last light

i have never witnessed their dawn departures
or joined in their preparations

what the taste of wind might tell
what clues the clouds or the sea reveal

but each time i wake and notice the boat gone
i keep an anxious eye to the horizon

i have watched their return enough times to now know
how to position the heavy plastic tubes in the wet sand

how to hold the bow perpendicular to the shore
to the keep the waves from washing in

where to place my hands
and the exact angle needed to lift and leverage the boat

rolling it onto the tubes
and then up the sharp incline of the beach

i have learned
how to help

so much so that two of the pescadores
now smile clap me on the back

and say
la próxima vez que vengas con nosotros

the sun strikes
the first october notes

and embers
everything into color

the wind unravels
the leaves

they spin
and crackle within

soon
all will be raked grey

as winter waits
a world away

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 family gathers
at the foot

of the grave
in the shade

of a small tree
the gravedigger rests

upon his shovel
fires burn

by the roadside
and smoke hangs

like a halo
from the schoolyard

the children sing
salvation

salvation
one day

there will be
salvation

the crows care little
for the mist

the snowmelt
or the palleted rain

they call
and carve the air

above the park
where do they go

after dark?
in their night silence

what do they think about?
elsewhere

something stirs
from its winter slumber

elsewhere
something uncoils

from its tight darkness
do not concern yourself

with the heavy details
of life

with the weight
of things

that sometimes swing
against you

find a place
with quiet light

and sing

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

fr      sb     so     er     yt     wa
om   ir      ma   en     hu    y
hi     ds     ny    ot     sr
sb    se      wo   fo     un
ed    ar      rd    ro     st
he    ch     st      ne    he
wa   in     ha     mo   wo
tc     gf     tw     re     rl
he    or     ew    da    da

do not be afraid
of what is left behind

do not be afraid
of being left behind

accept the circles
within and without

accept that the seasons
were are and will be

accept that we
were are and will be

the something
the nothing

ever graceful
ever beautiful

the crows complain
of october rain

an autumnal fuss
they can’t sustain

what we build
with brittle sticks
and little scars
lingers
in the language
of trees
rests
among the secrets
of stones

we control nothing

stand on any shore
sights set to the horizon
searching for answers
but what we need

is not             touched by tides
is not             found in the sliding of the sun
is not             floating in the many blue notes of the sea

they remain
where they have always been
and where they always will

after you died
we sat there

just the two of us
in complete silence

your eyes
were still open

so i stood up
reached across

your quiet body
and closed them

i held your hand
until the doctor arrived

then he and i signed
the death certificate

soon after that
two men

from the funeral parlor
took your body

my mother
your daughter

sent an email today
reminding me

that had you lived
you would have been

104

we wake well
in the early hours

i sit
in a steady hive

of light
where stillness

is the reward
the chipmunks rest

beside me
and care not

that i exist
a carolina wren explores

the cold ashes
in the hearth

of my brother’s backyard fireplace
never knowing

that i am sitting right here
a tiny red spider knits

between the leaves
of the hydrangeas

oblivious of me
or the machine pushing

through the blue silk
of the sky

is there any greater truth in life?
is there anything better than the industry of each day?
when you leave, will i miss you?

he sweeps
the dead

leaves
into little piles

it is a simple task
but he is very old

and this light labor
exhausts him

) side                              to                                             side(
          ( in h is h and s )     ( a b am b oo m broo m )

what will you do
with your string

of time?
the slow notes

of motion
the blood-red bells

of heartbeat?
how will you measure

the fire
and surprise

of silence?

there is a moment
when we speed

from beneath the heavy ground
sometimes

we are met
by a sky thick

with curtained clouds
sometimes

all is washed
in the gray

of rain
most days

it is the gentle sun
just waiting

and teeming
and promising

that this is how
your new life

will begin

growling
in the distance

dark plumes
untent

ruffling
the color

of the sea


           out
side
                 in in
side
          out


whenfearshakes
thebreathfromourlungs

whenpoisonmeasures
toomu­chintheblood

                                                          how do we
                                                                  return
                                                            to center?

                                                          how do we
                                                                  renew
                                                               beauty?

last night
the wind wiped away

the rain washed away
all marks all evidence

every road
and trail

are now scrubbed clean
this morning is quiet

the petals ready
everything shimmers

with the promise of

a summer ago

chipmunks scampered all over my brother’s back yard

they hid in the rock walls of the patio eating seeds and grass

once as i sat there in silence one ran right over my feet

but that was a year ago

i had noticed that now there weren’t any more chipmunks in my brother’s back yard and it puzzled me

then i saw its head sticking out of a crack in the concrete atop the basement stairs

magnificently black and perfectly scaled

its tongue pale pink quick

its eyes unblinking

the head leading the thick cord of its body
  
the snake had no interest in me and returned to its little chamber

there is no evil in the heart of a snake

and that is why i have kept its secret

i do not believe
in ghosts

but i am cordial to them nonetheless

i do not believe
in god

but from time to time i wonder how she is doing

i do not believe
in heaven

but i am curious as to what might be on the either side of this door

i do not believe
in the hell

but just in case i mind my manners

i do not believe
in the beatles

well actually i do and they are definitely better than the rolling stones

m(ending)
                                 you
           a      nd
         i(n)
      me

autumn aches
of crimson breaks
and gold mistakes
things we must
take up with rakes

morning tapped
the window

go see
what night has left you

                                                       (along the strand
                                                   waves in bright sways)
                                                     )pitched salty sparks
                                                      in pounding sprays(

do not
always choose comfort

or seek the familiar
it is fine

to ignore routine
to hold hands

with spontaneity
to wake

from a sleep
undreaming