Friday, May 31, 2019
My Last Bike
I was in the right lane --
Something wrong with my
Crankcase and looking back
I saw a line of oil streaming
Out behind as a truck not
Seeing nudged me off
And down an embankment.
Later, Susan wide-eyed
Listened to my tale
And between sobs said
She had never until just
Then imagined my death.
I no longer ride - the
Streets being crooked
And my eyesight
And hearing failing.
But I may have wept
Considering her death
As it crept alongside
And nudged her
Out of my life.
Rendezvous
She sang softly, breathing
Notes – not boldly, but
With assurance
Which glowed with
Ethereal incandescence
She alone could feel.
I looked up from
Her striving to
Seek sense from those
Sounds. Her rhythm
Slowed as her breathing
Failed, her music
Lapsed into gasping.
I followed her
Down her tonal
Pathway, breathing in time
With her breath all that
Remained – the words
She sang with those
Lyrics, those melodies,
I never comprehended.
Renderings
I render those days as
Colorful as they sometimes
Seem still, and the ringing
In the town sounding again --
Muted though by time even if
Something still remains –
Crushed stone, perhaps
The bell. Perhaps the steps
Down from the church and
Around the corner to the
Library where when she
Needed books my grandmother
Took me. I reveled in
Them as well and still do
Though I no longer
Listen for the bell,
And whatever ringing
There is may be
Illusion only and the
Words still here arrange
Themselves quite differently.
DNA on the rocks
It wasn’t always true
But now there is much new
Under the sun. With each
Generation variables
Cause some of us to dream
Loud enough to drown out
Normal means of thinking
And speak to each other
In a language we fail
To understand. No wonder
We drink or fly from
Frustration to drugs.
We can’t recall all
Of whatever is ripping
Itself out through our eyes,
Broached with our fingers.
You say Nature will select us out
Of existence, but we know
How to think around corners
Clear through solid walls.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)