I Want to Tell You . . .
*
the wind checks in with me
from time to time to ask
-are you ready now to go
i mask the fear
behind my eyes and bluff
-it depends on whether
you’ll be there howling
*
i had foreseen
the inevitable
hard fall
into the arms
of two friends
decades before
the wind blowing
a hurricane of dust
from some unknown place
down the dirty street
into my sobbing face
delivering the detritus
from there to who knows where
was it a deity’s
opening joke
or an unintended spill
after the last toke
i don’t recall
i drank myself
to sleep that night
woke late the next morning
and forgot
*
i want to tell you
from the age where
conviction falters
where determination
bends and curves its gaze
over the horizon
that there is hope
and hope there may be
buried under the sky-high pile
of human blunders
but even with
the greatest deeds
or money spent
or the work of government
the misery does not end
gentle lives are lost
at an immeasurable cost
for some untold greater good
and your life is never
held sacred except by
the precious few
you let see most of you
i want to tell you nothing at all
except you must be present
but of course i know
how the past’s sharp claws
hang there throughout the night
and worry’s frown appears from behind
the comforting clouds
that dissipate in morning
i want to tell you
in the fog of all your knowing
you must forgive yourself
for the things you’ve done
or failed to finish or left
for someone else to do
but i know forgiveness hides
in deep waters far below
this plain on which we toil
where doubt and anger conspire
and make me fear you won’t
i want to tell you
it gets better with the years
but what could i articulate
as the universe expands
around this diminishing space
for you to abandon these illusions
to give up the lies you call beliefs
*
it is remarkably late
in life for it to dawn on me
that a relationship requires
a soul disposed to laughter
a steely commitment to be together
more than an ounce of patience
that intimacy is mastered through
a determined trial and error
at the canvas with
the palette of the colors
and mastered strokes
and the bristles
of many different brushes
that more than fortitude is necessary
to see the world through another’s eyes
when those eyes are staring back
that you need to discern
deep in the bone the tasks
both small and great
that those you love
must set about alone
remarkably late it is
for me to imagine how
a few aphorisms
might undo what can
no longer be undone
*
when i was young i stumbled
on hard ground and found
the place where
the wind blows on forever
and i was lost
for those few moments
in the arms of good friends
in the embrace
of the grief and the grace
that is our world
listening as the wind
lifted the bits and tatters
of what remained of kindness
bragged in whirling gales
of its ancient indifference
*
what can i say
to the moving air
now steady from the west
that i have been entangled with
for so much of this life
perhaps i give in and say
-let’s go and fall again
one final time together
perhaps i stare in the direction
from where it blows and confess
-forgive me my old friend
as i turn in these last hours
with you at my back
to do what i alone must do