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Lessen

I read with difficulty,

poets I once admired,

not seeing anymore

the simplicity I once saw.

I worry stones smooth

between my fingers,

as if patterns emerge

through a force of will.

There must be something

more than what is here.

Certainties tremble, then

fall like ash into dust.

I’ve come to know less

than I have ever known.

(November 8, 2019)

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I’m Not Looking for a Saint

When I read a poem, the voice

of another being is enough.

Someone extant in the world

who for this moment speaks,

resonant with each leaf,

with each burgeoning flower.

I do not expect epiphany

to fall from Spring’s mouth

for that would not be true;

truth grows in retrospect,

a mirror to distort the past

reshaped to an image more divine.

All gods are just us

without desire for more.

(November 7,2019)

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always transitional

this is the moment

we find ourselves

ignorant and lost

hung upon a cusp

another idea

malformed and old

gnaws open bones

to lick our marrow

with trees being trees

we do not notice

the iron sentinels

stolid as chessman

they seem to say—

do not pass

we’re surrounded

yet we are in love

(October 25, 2019)

This Day Today

“same as it ever was”

                        David Byrne

Less time waits ahead

than has been left behind.

I enter the last third

of my life as if entering

a room in a familiar

house. Lasts will out pace

firsts, until the last breath

sighs into the stale air,

the last heart beat falters

to finish the room’s silence

like the last furtive shadows

flee an early morning sun.

Still, this day is my day,

until it is not, and I move on.

(September 30, 2019)