I dream of roads,
of miles ahead without a light;
of long grass on a broken shore –
alive in the lim’nal light.
I dream of silence.
No sound about or talking heads –
no radio voice.
Just the pistons’ beat and a mind ajar;
wind swirling in my emptiness.
I dream of smoke,
in fluid motion – beauty transient! –
in form one second,
no memory of its ever present.
August 11th, 2014
“I’m so cold – I’m putting my hands above the stove to get them warm.”
“Mmm. Don’t burn yourself.”
Sometimes – just sometimes – I can be incredibly prosaic.
August 10th, 2014
He achieves an end that few attain:
a mark once made never erased.
Not words on page or transient fame;
not bridges built or prizes claimed.
But with form of light, of laugh and life,
his immortal quill hath lives inscribed.
These memories made o’er time survive,
will precious grow and strong abide.
Too short our time – it passed so fast –
but go you must, I know at last.
August 9th, 2014