Way Beyond Twilight

For now the dark sky calls,

Space between my solitude

And my isolation

There is a difference

Seems to be sorting out

In the nighttime 

Barely anything that I can see

Without my spectacles

Except the darkness barely lit by

Some high, long visage of a 

Light rolling steadily descending across

The long plains

After it slipped down through the forest 

All need releases into it, 

That balance, hovering from 

My quiet place. 

A Little Insight

Running on empty,

I light a candle, and blow out the kitchen match, setting it down on the small table

And I pick it up, sure I won’t burn myself when I see no ember on 

The tip, but the tip hugs the wood and 

The rest pulls away.

Once my mother said she would never have pity

For some; long unaware decades I didn’t much understand, until now, her 

Ferocity. There are 

Weeds and wildflowers in my 

Windy landscape. If I run out of gas, 

So what? 

A Week in February

Moon skittered across an opening sky

I came to bed too late and 

Missed its arc hugging the window 

With the ellipse 

That frames my nighttime and

Morning views, but it’s 

Mostly night I have been missing

As I’ve been coming to bed too late.

The heavens have always helped

Me find balance; 

Not to keep, but to always find

I crave the dark and the deep 

Vast quiet 

All sorts of treasures reside there

I told a nurse today, I 

Had to see a surgeon for absolutely 

No big deal, 

But we got to talking 

And I told her, 

You know what is really good

About the age thing

Is that it is perfectly fine 

Indeed admirable or at least

Sufferable

To be a little crazy. 

The night light floods my sounds

Celtic ballads, an organ plundering

 Into transporting chord,

Bright shadow streaming into song,

Tree frogs, coyotes too 

When they feast

Voices from 

Bangladesh and Gullah

Baying, crying, hosanna

A far tinkle of laughter

Stirrings of blood and past, 

Haunting me and 

Weeping into time as it shortens

My disablements.

I know I’m fighting 

But when I stop, when I want to,

When I see what strums the chords 

Of this small bolt of light I call my life, 

I hope maybe I might move to purpose,

And like the phases of the moon, 

There really is no end and no beginning

Each wax and wane the signal.

February 3 and now February 8