The Last Memory

He asked “What would be my last memory before I die.”
He answered as a bird in flight.
A blackbird.
His words fluttered up, took to the air,
drew the eye of those listening, upwards,
seeing through the birds eye,
into the soul,
no darkness there in the heart of the blackbird,
only light and magic.
He shared a vision soft and sweet,
a flight of happiness,
no constraints, defying gravity
lifting us all heavenward.

for Gerardo Pacheco

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Voice

breath-belly-vibration-throat-lips-mouth-nose-sound-tone-dialect-cadence-volume-nuance-inflection-pronunciation-acscent-undertone-pitch-speed-impression-sensory-auditory-wave-compression-rarefaction-acoustic-frequency

I listen
for all these things
trying to hear you.

Sweet Sanctum

A song
A story
A kaddish
An expulsion
A piece of wizardry (crow man)
A liberation

The evening came gently.
In the air, the birds accompanied the human voices.
The city chimed in
with sirens, traffic noise
human background chatter.

We all met under the new moon
with our separate intentions
melding into a group consciousness
that rose in the sky
in a swirl of smoke and manifested
into the night.
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Turning

Turn towards the sun
turn the other cheek
turn the record over
turn the volume down
turn here
turn there
turn around
turn about
overturn
turn over (a new leaf?)
turn under
turn in
turn out
turn into
turn inside out
whatever turns you on
re-turn to sender
turn towards me
turn away
at every turn
turn up (turnip?)
turn down
turning a corner
turn a blind eye
turn a trick
turn of the tide
spoken out of turn
a turn of phrase
toss and turn
turn for the better
turn for the worse
speak out of turn
my turn
your turn
I turn at night
You turn with me
eventually
we will both turn to dust

Open Window

IMG_2154A moonlit night drew us to the window.

Rain fell softly, silently – we threw the window wide.

Warm mist fell on our faces,

Your warm breath on my neck.

The memory of that moment saved me.

Brought me back from despair

such that now

I listen to the rain

and a sweet snoring

with the window open wide.

The Blindside

Black ice blindsides,

the foot steps confidently,

instant re-direction,

jarring lurch, skid,

slow motion scramble

rush of blood in the veins,

dilating eyes,

flailing limbs,

a gasp,

Nice to see you again.

In Response

Small lies between us,
eroding a foundation built on curiousity,
openess, discourse.
Slow crumbling of foundations with each created word, with each fabrication, with each omission.
Fissures opened, widened, deepened.
A chasm replaced a bridge.
My GPS can no longer even find you.
You say I cut a vein in a single moment in time.
I say, it was a long time coming.