“there is never silence till death”, he thought.

“not until you are buried under dirt,

beneath the roots.

where it’s dark.

dark and heavy and quiet.”

our struggle is

in trying to reconcile

our eternal nature

with our mortal frame.

we live bound by time

in a Timeless Universe.

nothing ever made will outlast us.

In the beginning
We spun frivolously
Out from the Center

Limbs dangled in zero
And fingertips grew
From star crumbs

He is knitting
You, boy from
The dust of it all

I know that
You are only a breath
Away, little guy.

Godspeed.

we used to share

pillows and blankets

on airplanes, like

lovers or kin

i have arrived at the End of Days

and it is much more tranquil than

i had imagined.

the four horsemen are docile

adversaries, more apt to hurl

a strident word than a sword

and the fires that have beset the world

do not burn our keepsakes

though the smoke permeates our space

our gold does not tarnish

and we will not lose a single

day together because of Armageddon.

the shoes are a little worn

and my left side is prone to cramp

but if you are the one

(and that you are)

lace up, honey

the race has just begun

i remember music
played live in crowded
sweaty rooms, sweet
with its bouquet of old
beer and lacquer
and the murmur of too
many bodies in too small
a space. i remember when
you looked a man in the
face and a handshake
was never shunned.
people are cowards. an army
of intelligence bested by
intentions, precautions.

it was said the enemy is invisible

so rather than talons the Creator
fitted him with line graphs and
statistical telemetry.

now while we wait
we wait
for nothing
the bars will never wash
the beer out, though they
will try. they will try and
try. musicians will write
about this and you will
listen from a laptop.

I’m back
I’m married
I’m inspired

i am moving to Montana
despite the cliché of it all
i am pulling the stakes
up and going

when i leave it all behind
i won’t ever look back,
i, in fact
never look back

there’s nothing to see

i’ve learned that a lifetime
is a collection of all the
lives we lived

here and there,
this season
and that one

if there’s yet another life
for me to live,
let it be Montana.

i used to write poetry
i used to do many things

i used it all up
whatever it was

In the peppered sweetness
of a Wildflower unfurled
Lies the blessed splendor
Of a pretty girl.

Something to behold.

when shadows grow longer
the pen grows stronger

life
is
whatever
you
are
doing
right
now

everything else is imagination

scattered around the back pasture
there is crab, St. Augustine, Kentucky blue,
ripples of weed, burr and field grasses,

dandelions, ivy, and honeysuckle,
oak and cherry wood, burrs and acorns,
branches hanging to the ground

heavy with Summer’s first muggy air,
wind and water, heat and humid,
big clouds and patches of blue,

“enough blue sky to fill an Eskimo’s pants”
means the sun will come out grandma
used to say, all of us huddled in the

back of their impressive Lincoln,
the land yacht we would call it,
and an ash tray and lighter available

in every seat, our only battle was who
got to lay up above the head boards
in the back window during nap time,

summers have come and gone, leaving their
marks, some years yield crunchy St. Augustine
grasses buckling under the weight of

our bare feet, and other years, weeds,
stabbing our tender soles, we tread
lightly through those parts of the yard,

still, tonight looms and the heaviness
has left the air, the cacophony of
croaks and whippers flies up as

the sun sinks down and I carelessly spin
the tip of my finger along the
floating ice cubes in whats left of my iced tea.

i have not yet
left this planet,
there is more
to do before
the Man comes
a-callin’.

He wil not wait
for me to finish,
He is coming
whenever He feels.

if you’re going
to have Eternal
life,
get to work.