Morning of Mary’s birthday
though in another time zone
she is surely asleep.
Here in Central Daylight Time
her birthday arrives two hours
earlier and I wander the house
singing the Happy Birthday song
again and again to the air
waiting waiting for whenever
she might be ready to hear it.
I wish her a prime year better
than the one before and the next
one better than this my slightly
unrealistic wish for me and mine.
Fall approaches
Beckons the reclusive life
holed up in my house with
dogs, shut the doors,
draw the curtains.
Self-contained here in
our small home
shortened days
mysterious nights
Contemplate a move
up north Canada or Scotland
Shut out the damp with
a neat little fire
Wander new woods and bogs
walking stick in hand
two dogs racing ahead
Return home to our quiet
place and in the evening
patch ourselves together
into a living breathing quilt.
Before I die I want to . . .
thus reads the theme of the project
a giant wall in place for All to post
high-minded notions
along the lines of
enlightenment
awakening
destination
inner peace
accomplishment.
One fellow writes
be tried for piracy
leaving no room for doubt
of his intention to live his life
at least with humor if not
wholehearted aplomb.
A morning as still as death
covered in heavy white shroud
lackluster hum of dying crickets
occasional word from the neighbor’s
chickens broken finally by the
persistent song of one fully living
cardinal telling his real story
to whomever will listen hoping
for whatever it is cardinals hope for
if hope is what they do contrary to
what I am told with a shake of the
head, oh no, birds do not have a
thing in them called Hope.
Only humans pursue such folly.
Nearly autumn
home back home again
music drifting through the open window
and what I hope was not another gunshot
in my neighborhood in what once was
my safe little town where I raised three sons
without too much worry, one of whom has
a birthday today a quiet one I’m thinking
because of because and I wish I was there
to bake him a nice little cake crank up
some ice cream sing a merry tune
hold his slim self in my arms on
his own birthday that is today.
She wept there, unexpectedly, a young woman
with a brown dog not hers, helplessly asking
How did you get like this? so openly
so unfiltered so unrehearsed so much a child.
Something had come undone and she
wept, needing to and there it was, something
I’d done or written or put forth setting it loose in her.
And where and to what she’s gone now I’ll never know.
A stranger who passed right through my life within
minutes but whom I will always remember.
Cloud full fall morning
traipsing off somewhere away.
Returning’s a gift.
Thursday the thirteenth
means, okay, nothing
so let’s make something up
make something of it
a portent
a sign of some kind
a happy phrase
a new holiday
Thursday the Thirteenth
The Day of Dreaming
Wishes Come True Day
All’s Well Day
Magic Spell Day
a day of good luck
white cats across the path
walk beneath that ladder
step on a crack and
heal your mother’s back
good fortune and
lucky pennies from heaven
for All.
Miles lies upon his back
upon my bed
front legs tucked in
back ones spread akimbo
a dog’s life if ever there
was one.
Streak of light slowly draws itself
up and up in the morning sky
an airplane gaining height
an odd sight here
no airport nearby.
Where has it come from
where is it going on its
glorious bright path?
Straight up to heaven
full with passengers
whose time has come
whose future now exists
only in the spirit realm
until next time around?
The pilot too I suppose
or do we go sans pilot
on such a journey
express flight
straight up
no navigator needed?
One could guess that yes
for such a destination
we’re free flying
like shooting stars
darting directly up
no looking back.