Opened

I, who once opened my eyes,
Came to and rose again and sighed.
The trees were lifting leafless heads against the sky,
The crows and ravens let out not a cry.
Sweet memories should follow me,
As you should, by the bridal bree,
But we are not the same as once we were,
And time is not the essence nor desire's lure.
Still when I sleep I see your face
The eyes that met mine once, the trace
Of golden hair against your laughing mouth, your middling words
And somewhere in that past the cords
Of my own youth, a faded, denim, broken guise.

Dropping Light

When the darkness comes earlier and earlier,
And the light stretches like so many fingers in broken prisms across the ground,
There is a stillness in the heart for the upcoming winter,
And ebony wings fly against the emptiness and sudden loss of sound.
The leaves are like so many golden ghosts,
Edging themselves into the approaching night;
And the trees are fasting, thin skeletons in the gloam,
Cold spectral cuts against the dropping white.
The smells are brisk, a passing item in the wind,
And placid creatures dare not take a deeper breath;
But one of them is crying in the heavy blackness as it comes
A sad and dismal sound like a forgotten dirth.
"Tell, tell again", the seasons sing,
"Tell the lost, the long forgotten tales."
The sun sinks down and so the world
And sinks each deep and winding trail.

Bridges

Sometimes I wish I could stand at a windy bridge,
And let my hair loose,
And let the stars, like so many thousands of sentinals,
Tell me how to feel.
They would disrobe in the dark
Smile at me and say,
"Even your keel,
Take the road,
Leave your sorrows,
Drop your load."
Though, then, even then,
I may cry
That they know so much better than I.
How they are floating but well employed
And I am just a speck of dust
Standing on a bridge.

Leaf

The meadows are all barren,
The gate before them ice:
A blank reminder of the clouds
That bent the fields of rice;
The crows are calling sadly,
The deer have disappeared:
There's pieces of a frozen mouse
Which seems both sad and queer.
The sheds have doors that bang and beat,
Like drums in rushing winds;
There's but a single leaf alive
Which rests with corpsly friends.

When It Fades

Time is forgotten
Sands and crumbs we drop like pods of cotton,
Shadows that we never could remember,
Frosted panes and empty lanes in late December;
Spring came too soon: flowers bent without a hope of living,
Buds and bees and leaves their spirits giving,
Wishing they could sing another moment...
A moment...
A moment in time.

Your Brand

You weren't anonymous, this I know;

Not the breath of a wind, not a passing glow;

You were not just a footprint in the shimmering sands,

Nor a glint of gold in a distant land.

No, these things could be passed, and none would care,

A shell, a drop, a chip, a hair;

But you were more than empty hands,

And left me like a burning brand. 

Changing Wind

Catch the wind within a hand,
Never let it leave,
Like a thousand grains of sand
Unallowed to breathe;
Favors it will have to get,
Just to stay inside;
Start a trial, take a bet
How long it will abide.
Whisper in its flying ear,
"Hear the autumn come?"
Soon you'll have no loss to fear
Though its voice is dumb.
Catch it, make it stay for life
Feel it every day
It will be a kiss and knife
When the skies are gray.

From the Drought

I think if I should see the sea,
Then I should also see my soul;
An item both inane and wise,
An ornament both deep and dull.
The foaming breakers are my hopes,
At times they were so commonplace,
But now they draw themselves away
And disappear without a trace.
Should storms arrive, I will agree
That they reflect my downward thoughts;
But I should not be prone to change
The rains that keep me from the drought.

Better Things

Make room for little things,
The lovely things, the sweet good things,
The soft white rain in early dusk,
The butterfly in newborn spring.
Make room for little things,
Those things that soon will fade away;
The laughter that your child brings,
The baby cries that won't long stay.
Though the world is often bitter,
Sad with time and torn from peace;
Make room in your soul for better
Better things will never cease.

Footprints

Should I seek the rocky shore,
Torn with the skeletons of the sea,
Ravaged by waves from the ocean floor,
Flecked with the blood from a coral tree;
I should find my soul's dust there,
Thrumming and throbbing within the skies
Spread over captain's nests and men
Laboring hard under light and tide.
Creatures scuttle through damp black homes,
No one remembers their island place;
Such is my mind in the churning foam;
A footprint in sand that leaves no trace.