Mission Statement
Finally, I return
to these shores from which I started.
Now an old man in wet rags
but with a brand new slate
and my stylus in hand
ready to take my dictation
from a life
too full of random events
and fading flowers
for my imagination
to capture.
A foolish and futile endeavor this―
as if I could hold the ocean
in the palm of my hand.
But I will not be deterred.
The clouds darken
and the grinding tide approaches.
Now I Know Why
Now I know why the old seek sunshine.
This unbroken white smoke sky−
so like cotton, seemingly soft and warm, but
really distant and cold and
heavy
as a lifetime of ice block sorrows that
collapse onto toothpick
shoulders that bend to
breaking.
Now I know why the rain waits.
This prickly breeze that dips
and swirls and papercuts its
way across bloodless
skin.
Full
Here the floating hands before me
promise everything
quick as the moment you get a joke
I want to fall into you and lose us both
again
I want to know that more again
hungry
with such a treasure chest
it would be a shame to arrive
empty-handed
where feature-rich and feckless
as a future could be, and beckoning
waits.
