They left me for dead. Wounded. Blood. Everywhere. My own. It scared them. They ran. Good. Let them. I lay. Crawled. Gripped the dirt and pulled up on rocks to crawl up to the next. Pain so great so much like God it became a friend. I talked to it. Spit my name. More blood came. Then the answer. Death gave up. I stood. I walked. I ran. I flew. I lived. Now they fear me. They always did. Spirit now. Flesh and blood no more. All gone. Invisible. Indivisible. Invincible. I’d be scared too if I were them. ƒ
Inevitability
A man must believe in more than death or dying. What might that one thing be? Love, of course, inevitably. The fountainhead from which all life flows or otherwise what flows is mere vanity or nothing into nothing and doomed to nothing more save its own reflection which repeatedly is nothing at all. Love gives life and only life gives eternity. ƒ
Hour Glass
Stare at Death. Go ahead. Face it. Look deep and watch the reflection and the sand. See how they flow together in a heap all by themselves ever downward, dissipating and irretrievable. Unless and this is all in all, you reach out and turn it over, the whole device and all its contents. As and in so far as life remains within you, that elegant fluidity both liquid and solid and spirit you take hold and resurrect the finite portion you are given over and over not in futility but triumph, not in resignation but revolution as the earth revolves around the sun and the sun burns out and you become the star. ƒ
But Not Out
I want to go home, but not in a box. I’ve seen my father ride in one and his father before him and the women who loved them, all carried like babies in a cradle to their final resting place. Not me. I want to go there. Know I will inevitably, but not so calm, so still, so all used up. I’ll sail there naked and dive off the bow into waters cold, clear and deep and swim to shore like a man in a woman and there and only then you can put me in a box. ƒ
Aria
Where do voices come from? They come from you and me. They come from us like foam upon the sea. Our deepest thoughts and passions, occasionally a truth, expressed through our voices. Living proof. Sing to me of gladness. Sing to me of mirth. Let me hear the still small voice of love. ƒ
Squirrely
So let me see if I got this right. You pick up a green walnut from the ground and you sit there on a branch and you tear into it with your sharp incisors. That’s a beautiful tail you’ve got there for balance by the way. Anyway, you sit there chewing and spitting and spitting and chewing, making your way through that bitter rind. Makes me think of a lots of situations in life and all the time you’re getting down to the really hard part, but you know there’s something sweet and nutritious deep inside. I watch you work. You’re really good at it. I’ve got a few talents too, but that’s why I’m resting. Anyway, eventually you get down to the nut and then, just when I thought you’d risk a tooth gnawing through to the meat, you jam the whole thing in your mouth. You scurry away […]
Signus
There atop the thorny bush there is a rose. One rose in late summer. One rose against the odds, against the sky, against the elements, against gravity itself, a thing of beauty, a point of vivid life against the backdrop of normalcy, the green, the standard vegetation and so am I. Let it be for me as it is for that rose and so it is. I have no complaint against the communion of my soul with this emblem of ascendancy. Let me be as I am, as it is, as it was meant to show me. Grow above the rest, everything else and bloom before the curtain, against the way things are and this for certain. Victory is mine. Triumph is a rose that has been given. ♥
Keys
Worthless shards of serrated metal, ground to keep valuables secure, like Tutankhamun’s tomb, liquor on the Titanic or cars from ever being stolen. There’s one for your heart. Unless you leave it open. ♥
Antikythera
In the year 1901 on the floor of the Aegean Sea a diver found the lump of something unimaginable, unthinkable, unfathomable, an intricate mechanism indistinguishable from anything of value until technology revealed the workings of a complex mechanical computer capable of predicting with perfect accuracy the swirling of the cosmos, the relative position of stars and planets for any year entered with the turn of a handle, a symphony of gears, levers and inter-connected cam shafts, astonishing and thousands of years before our own. The only thing it could not predict and failed to grasp utterly, the day on which a storm would send it to the bottom and transform it into a mirror. ♠
Ukraine
I saw them through the open window. Spring brought them to my life and I felt life within me. A flight of geese pounding through the air breasts beating, hearts honking, wings cleaving all eternity toward me as I stood astonished and rushed outdoors to cheer them on their way. Winter came. The house burned. Machines pushed my life, my hopes, my labor, my love into a ditch. But when the wind blows through open windows now and I remember oh so vividly the sight, the smell, the sounds of all everything is meant be be I long for heaven where once I lived to see the way I thought it ought to be. ♥