RAMBLES
The pink reminders of the evening
Have gathered themselves into the corners
Where the light has its own agenda.
The cornfields in their ranks and files
Start their parades delving into the mysteries
As they spiral upwards into fractals
Worshipped like the poor will objects able
To be possessed. We skate among them
Challenged by our wrong intentions, crashed
Into by dreams and ransacked by the arrogance
The mind handles to confuse us with lucid
Moments that defy time, leaving us on
The edge of our beds at three or four
A m trembling and unable to put the body
To rest again so that we may mount
the pastel boats of the nights flickering
Ships and use them as the vehicles
We need to consume the far shore
And ride home again, more or less
Complete upon waking and filled
With tales the night has told morning
Even as it steals from its bower fading
As it does so, convincing in its
Description of foolish wisdom.
A TRAVELER’S TALE
In the blood of evening we wade
Through the moments listening for thunder,
Something we can rely on before we wash
Our legs to get ready for the night.
I do not understand why we continue
To reach for one another but I do
Participate. Perhaps it is for the feel
A hand might might have touching near the heart,
Asking a forgiveness that is non-specific
But well meant, wanting something to be
Done before the whole place becomes
Dark and we stumble from one pool
Of light to another never sure our direction
Is correct or even necessary, Before
It gets too dark to see your eyes
Before me. Perhaps we will be in love.
Perhaps we will find a doorway for a
Moment, crouch there and begin to relate
Stories to each other as if it were
Important for us to hear them.
I will tell you how I came here
Across the wine dark sea of ancient
Time and found myself just outside the city
At this time of day, traveling with
the others past the dim orchards,
Seeing the fires on the horizon, hoping
Rest would be full of peace, quiet
Song and the precious company
And comfort one might find here.
It seems a long way to travel
To find only the bloody failing
the light is intent on illuminating.
We begin to call to one another,
Softly at first, then louder
Always trying to make the new
Distinctive, luxurious to discuss
And comely in its transformation,
Its shading, its interlocked devices,
Our commerce in its patterns, always new,
Always skillful, filled with a fragrance
Unbound by the finality of daylight,
Praying we may never be so totally alone.
