Villanelle for Lost Dreams

Beneath the whirling tumult of sea

is the resting place of forgotten dreams.

But not everything below is dead,

they just cannot be touched by the sun

and what was once so vivid and true

is now a heartbeat beneath the sand.

Through the hourglass slips the sand

creating a beach for the pale green sea

making what is real no longer true

and in our waking hours, those dreams

of days when we could touch the sun

fall like gulls upon the shore, dead.

Where do we go when the past is dead?

Do we bury our heads under the sand

or turn our eyes up towards the sun?

Only in that white, bright light do we see

the weak heartbeat of lost dreams

and a north star to what is true.

Following the path that’s straight and true,

the waysides littered with our dead,

we behold the cost of our fever dreams

in shallow graves beneath hot sand.

All the cleansing of salted sea

cannot reverse the setting sun.

We plod along, daughter and son,

in search of dreams and love that’s true.

Each changing like tides on the sea

That only stop if we are dead.

Still we write our names in sand

And skip flat stones like they’re our dreams.

What is the meaning of these dreams,

That will one day implode like our sun,

If not an attempt to stay Time’s own sands

Or a question of what’s still true

That we sing to all our dead

Floating on burning ships to sea.

What we know to be true, is lost at sea

where dreams are as movable as sand.

We are not dead, yet we block the sun.

I always imagined I would know

I always imagined I would know

the exact moment when your heart stopped beating

whether it was a sudden illness

or some freak accident,

like getting hit by a cab while crossing 3^rd Ave.

(You know nobody minds that stoplight)

In that instant, I would look up from my work

and put my hand on my chest.

I would know

because how could I not.

But the truth is

there will be no ethereal moment

where your soul passes through me

on its way to the next world.

I will not notice one less breath in the atmosphere

and the sky won’t seem darker than before.

Even mothers do not realize

when their sons have drowned in rivers

many miles away.

My hands won’t cease to work without you

and the sun will shine regardless.

A world without you tomorrow

is exactly the same as today,

But when I get that phone call

Or find you face down on the kitchen floor,

everything, oh yes, everything

Will never be the same

and I will imagine I always knew.

rain in midtown

Just outside Grand Central Station,
I am pushing through the crowds
Between the walls of glass and stone
below a sky that's free of clouds.

When on my cheek I feel a drop,
away, I wipe it like a hair,
look in puzzlement at the sky
and continue on to Pershing Square.

I feel another droplet fall,
hit cold and wet upon my arm
like icy little pins they start
and each one fills me with alarm.

The sky still far and clear and blue
reflects its light on mirrored tower.
No one is reaching for umbrellas
in preparation for the coming shower.

Along Madison Avenue
the rain begins to pour.
It soaks through my ivory blouse
and chills me to my very core.

But on the street, not one looks up,
their heads and clothes stay dry.
As puddles forms inside my shoes
bike messengers and business men go by.

My hair is sticking to my face.
Water is collecting by my feet.
Make-up is running from my eyes
as I turn right on 38th St.

The flood begins on the corner
when the streetlights change to red.
Waves of water rush past cabs
and splash into the traffic ahead.

The rainwater rises but no one cares.
They walk unfazed below the tide
as I choke on liquid, gasp for breath
praying for the waters to subside.

I struggle to hold to the building's side
As the waters continue to rise.
My fingers slip, I fall below,
hands reaching up to clear blue skies.

Below the surface, the water's cold
it's iciness numbs my fear.
I close my eyes to fall asleep.
I hope nobody finds me here.

the rest is silence

with wings outstretched

the setting sun can turn a raven blue

feathers tangled in branches that cradle

after that fateful plunge from the sky

black claws let go

throw your head back and laugh

at the fly that eats your eyes
at the maggots in your belly

at the inevitable decay

birds are meant to stay in the sky

but we all are worms in the end.

Untitled

Walking home
I saw a baby bird at my feet
Never seeing
Dead.

Without touching
I knew instinctively how he would feel.

No feathers

Fetus.

Wondering time

I thought how long his corpse would stay

Nearing decay

Perish.

Waiting there

I heard a grackle scream in an evergreen

No mother

Mourns.

Memento Mori

In the gully along the trail
Deer bones lay scattered, forgotten toys.
Picked clean of meat and worm devoured,
Set a snowy white in the sweltering June.

Deep inside the sun bleached skull,
The empty arroyo of the eyes
Examines the same small bit of ground
But all it sees is endless dirt.

Foliage hugs the skeleton close
Gripping the shards of deer remains
Grinds the bones into a fine dust
And to each their separate end:

The pulling of body back into earth
I, too, can feel it in my bones.

The Murder of Brady Alexander

A Red Chevy Tahoe
Kicks up dust on this chalky gravel road.
Two headlights struggle against the dust
and the aggressive darkness.
They kill the engine along side the canary grass.
The crickets smother the night to silence
in rural Arkansas.
Two males emerge dragging you behind.
This night was the last you ever saw:

When mortal metal pierced the air
You were too late to hear,
Already watching your body smoke
where neat holes leaked down your chest.

The two lights leave you with only shadows
while the crickets sing your requiem
and the canary grass dances but you can’t see,
Folded up in the middle of the road
As the chalky smoke settles around your corpse,
nothing is left to mark your grave
Apart from the gravel dripping red.

Ohdee

We carried you home in a big brown box.
I was small and you were smaller.
My black n' white puppy, crying out next to me
in the backseat of our old red van.
We named you Our Dog.
I cupped your small body in my little hands,
Smiling at you in your big box,
I tickled your nose with my long brown hair
And you stopped your crying
Just as, years later, you tickled my toes
with your rough tongue when I cried.
We grew up together;
You grew old alone.

When I was ten, you bite me.
Our brother jumped on you from the monkey bars.
I forgave you the scar on my wrist
before you even begged.
A year later was the fever
that shook our brother late at night.
I held you tight as the sirens sounded,
locked in my room of pink.
We learned unconditional love together;
I learned to say "goodbye" alone.

I remember the first tumor.
I remember when you limped.
I remember the darkness in your eyes
And the first time I called
but you did not come.
I hugged you because I knew.
So I immortalize you with my words.
We learned pain together;
You learned release alone.