#bisonjack
In memory of my mother. The references in this poem are ones she would understand and I hope that wherever she is now, she may to get to read this with a smile.
The Tall Grass
-
The hallway smelled
of disinfectant and sage
as though somewhere in
the numbering of days
they hoped to disguise
the wilderness.
The arrows on the wall
pointed to where I had
been told to go then
followed me into the tall
grass and grove of
redwood trees to a field
of purple flowers that
sloped down to a stream
where behind a curtain
made from motes of dust
my mother lay in a sunbeam.
The Swoon of Time
-
After all,
are we not
but the echoes
of a miracle,
held together by
the rhythms of
our own personal
mythologies and
the sound of a
reverberating bell.
Gravitate
.
Hopefully
one day we
will see each
other standing
alone at the edge
of our universe
and remember
that we were
once all made
of stardust.
Sing Sing Nights
.
Although we have not met
and most likely never will,
I want you to know that
I believe in you.
Even if our sense of right
and wrong is based on a
different moral compass
and we look at the world
through such disparate
eyes that we disagree on
what love is or why so
much suffering exists,
I still believe in you.
I believe in you despite
our differences and
because if I were to choose
not to believe in you,
how would I know what
It means to believe in myself.
Sailing Down the River
-
Sometimes
I might sound like
I know a few things
but, in truth,
whatever I have
learned along the way
has come from
the collision of my
own self-deception
and some kind of
unrelatable beauty.
Fugitives
.
After all,
perhaps we
are simply
fugitives
running from
impermanence
caught somewhere
between longing
and solace.
