I chose the yellowed white pearls your hands crafted,
gifted art,
entwined with my memory forever.
Now on the morning drive west
the pink gold sun
rises slowly behind me.
This gift speaks your goodbye to me.
Your death was from my art undone.
I am sorry.
There is more care than orders scripted or procedures done,
more than the fatigue of so much hurt.
I chose the yellowed white pearls
entwined in memory,
awakened to a daily becoming,
not fading
burning off the haze of dawn.
To have and to hold “will not last long”
-too messy too expectant they said
yet 41 promise years later,
we stand each whole and yet one.
Never really over,
the gospel of love embraced.
The time together traced in the lives of too many
but especially three
with days years or moments left to bloom.
In the cycle of death
beyond time and space
a light
boldly sings
an essence of forever being
and my soul remembers why I am.
She did not match the data presented
in hospital speak to a crowd of learners.
It was not so much a lie
as it was a revealing – a tale.
The well and the ill are stories
told from all sides of a hospital bed
in space and time
not captured in code and computer screens.
So let the record so reflect
the hurt and the heart of
hands reaching
and healing
beyond the numbering of days.
Dreams and hopes light the path for tomorrow,
not rushing what can be done to win every now.
Time is never managed
but lived in random synchrony within a moment’s notice.
Let Light
and Breath
and Love
find my soul ready.
Can you read without listening to the words?
Can you see without hearing thoughts?
Ignorance protects.
Love opens.
Time to bow to the listening side of our hearts.
The beauty of a sunset along the Appalachian gaps
reminds me that I wish no one ill
Yet then its shining point annoys
I squint
and the glare strains my soul
I shout
“go hide in the valley and die out”
no patience
no presence
and in that breath
I have struck an edge
from life to death
Bags in hand
carried out
up front with doors shut
seated for the daily performance
Invariable anxiety
among the hosted caravan
some more polite than others.
Mirrors shoulder high
from the corners reflecting
the auburn and pink rising
behind and brightly announcing
the commuting of the day.
Hearing something ahead
songs of those with voices only
nothing to touch though reaching deep
Fearing the fall
knowing nothing but the view
of love from inside out
in this place.
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