He was a Friend of Mine

Where do you go?

Where do you go when things are

So outside comprehension? 

Maybe I just tend my garden,

Worry about my really old dog, but

He never stopped.

He tended. Thank you Frank.

Tend, actually, that’s all I can do. 

C’est sufficant

RIP and you rise. 

In memoriam Frank LaMere

https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=JR6dnAjjOTE

Chamaecyparis

I sit on the small concrete bench

Under the trumpet vine in the 

Evergreen garden, 

The chamaecyparis 

Bending into my frame, as I look out

Up north into the darkening sky. 

The trumpet vine is old, winding, sinuous 

Old and laden with that 

Coral orangeness about to pop

There are fireflies in this peaceful place

Although there’s 

No way can I capture them.

Suffice it to write

These fireflies winking 

Are the gift in the chaos. 

I snap a photo 

Looking east toward the back of my house

Over the top of the arbor vitae hedge surrounding

This old garden,

It’s flat, no light from my house.

Sometimes it’s a rough passage

Between here and a house unlit,

Or maybe I mean lit,

The toll of the struggle pours into

These last days,

And I’m just determined,

Maybe, no, praying for balance.