LAMENTATIONS

 Ramon's old camp

LAMENTATIONS 

A wandering of the spirit

Clothed like an idiot

In the worst weather, issuing

Sounds that take the heart

Away slowly so one can watch

It leaving through the filtered

Light of the jungle,

Past a small clearing then

Disappearing for a lifetime.

One becomes attached to 

Living this way only because

There is little else one can call

Life but the high cries

From the canopy of night.

A Rustling of wings, some beast

Coughing into an even darker

Front where everything must

Be carried away by strangers.

We call loudly for our family,

Our brothers and sisters and the dark

Answers with measured howls and shrieking

They move the soul away from the body,

Expand everything we know toward

A false dawn or a golden moment late

In the day, evening in the mouth

Like rust, teeth clenched trying

To wake the moon to see

If it makes any sense at all;

Elemental traveling such as this,

The things we never get used to doing.

SPINNING BALLS

SPINNING BALLS

When we are not there is the only

Time it will arouse attention.

Three spinning balls larger than 

Questions work themselves into

A frenzy of needing someone to see

Them, but it is never us.  No matter

How hard our prayers become there

Is no way we can see them, even looking 

At mirrors does not serve us well.

I’ve been going through this dilemma

For years now, mostly after dark when

Without reason I become obsessed

With this idea as if it were a void

In my life.  I try to observe the scene

To no avail.  I am fervent even when 

It ceases to matter.   It seems as if 

I could win this one without a problem.

I’ve finally made the decision in advance;

To know how beautiful they are without having

To see them spinning there, throwing off

colors and sparks, dream-like mists,

A music never before heard.  It is 

Truly beautiful.  I will lead my life knowing this.