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In March, after you’re gone

I mourn you now as the
Rites of your passing let
Me, permit me to mourn
You, completely, a little
At a time. Mourning, it's
A process, I say, a little at
A time but in all this time
I have mourned you, not
Completely but a little at
A time as I lost you, not
Completely, but a little at
A time. All this time when
You were still here yet not
Completely you, I mourned
You, losing you as I did, a
Little at a time. I mourned
Through laughter and tears
That never completely fall
As you slipped away, lost
To me, lost to yourself, you
Are gone now, passed from
This realm, no longer lost,
As you were when first I
Mourned you, yet lost to
Me. I will mourn you. Now
Featured

Mourning

I will mourn you when
You're gone, and those
Rites of your passing 
Allow my grief out from
The volcano the furnace
The seismic pressure
I am holding together
While you live each day
As less of who you are
Diminished, diminishing 
Lost but still here, still
Mine, not fully mine, and
Not always lost. Still
Funny, silly, bitter, and 
Yes, still sweet. My love
No longer the helpmate,
The lover, the champion
Of our lives. Still lost. I
Will mourn you now and
Then. I will mourn. Now

[Originally written May 27, 2024, but posted in November 2024]

Connected

The neighbor's dog comes
Running to greet me, my 
Heart leaps, recognizing
Connection. All creatures
Large and small, as that
Sappy Brit put it. I saw
The TV series, never did
Read the book. My thrill
As I pet her head is also
Sappy. Sappy and happy at
Her enthusiasm, bestowed
Quickly, and forgotten as
She trots out to sunshine,
A happy tail still wagging

I look at the skies

You know, I look out at
The sky. It's beautiful 
Again. I have seen many
Skies as beautiful and
That look like this sky
The clouds, the setting
Sun, all configured as
If mathematics were part
Of the equation at this
Time of day, to mark the
Falling sun, the close of
Another perfect evening.
It will not be the last I
See. There will be many a
Sky as beautiful as the
Perfect sky was tonight

Siesta

The air is hefty with heat,
Weighted like blankets that 
Give comfort and shelter in
Colder times, the hot air 
Is distracting but holds 
Everyone's attention, it is
The subject of conversation 
And honored in chit-chats
If I were younger, I would
Notice how languid, and how
Sensual the weight of it was
How the humidity resonated
In every pore, reverberated
Making ripples appear as if
Pressed to my skin, waving 
In the air. I am no longer
Young and the stifling heat
Is no longer reminiscent of 
Long quiet afternoons in the
Cool of sheets, when we are 
Shuttered inside, a breeze
Blowing the curtains back 
Into a pale off-white window
Frame. We are sheltered in
A darkened room, engrossed
In each other, oblivious to
All else, although we feel 
Heat cover us, waving above,
The ceiling fan, noisy and
Intent on moving the heated
Air slowly around our bodies
It is early summer and our
Siesta is mandated at this
Time of day, this afternoon
Hour, it is a reprieve from
The sun's primal insistent
Rays, the heat delivering 
A break from our occupations
Heat heavy with anticipation

Roads most travelled

So I am thinking or am
I streaming my memories
Looking at all the paths
That wound in and out of
My life, running rings 
Not of smoke but similar,
Of nebulae, sparkly and
Low in the sky. Clouds
Have passed overhead,in
The myriad times of my
Life, spilling second by
Second, ticking slowly
As it does, but veering
In different directions,
As life does. We are so
Fragmented by our many
Experiences, exploding,
Unwinding, crawling over
Unexplored territory, we
Start anew at each phase
Of our life's adventures
Every turn is an episode
In a new season outlining
Occurrences, familiar or
Practiced. Life is your
Continuum, as it is mine.
Cliffs left hanging but
Dazzling as sunsets, and
Sunrise, as starry skies

Time enough

I long for time,
Reaching across
The table to grasp
At its keeper, 
As if I haven't 
Enough when time
Is all I have.
Time to think, 
To write, to 
Rearrange memory
There is plenty
Life is a long
Stretch of time
While you live
It. Shortened in
Retrospect, or
Not. There's 
Always enough
There's never
Enough. It slips
Or does it slither
Syncopated by 
The tocks ticking
Away minute by
Minute, its very
Precision a 
Rebuke of time
Wasted, misspent,
Of things not 
Done or undone
Gone in a flash
Lost in the hours
Unsaid or frivolous
Scolding will not
Bring them back,
Restore them.
You cannot keep
Time, it can keep
You, as it passes 
Not just in days
Or hours, seconds
But also in years,
Time holds such
Infinite variety
Its shape shifting
Hold this moment
These moments if
You can as they 
Slip like water
Into decades. 
Into memories of
Times passed, of
Time past.

With every hour

Upon awakening I quote
The Scottish play. Time
Creeps from, I say, then
Interject hour to hour.
Days, I say, are too long
I, whose mornings get 
Away from her, turning 
The corner at noon and
Too soon becoming an after
It's afternoon and where
Has my day gone, what is
It I have done with the
Promise mornings brought
How could it be that my
Leisurely pace sucked
Away the day's breath 
How could it suddenly
Be nearly two and I not
Ready to creep out to
Face the sunshine, I 
Misquote the Bard again,
From day to day, time
Creeps into all my 
Tomorrows. What have 
My days signified

Heredity

We are damaged by
The uniqueness of
Our parents. All
Of us, as they are
All unique, not at
All as we expected
Our parents are as
Different as each
Person is unlike
Each other person.
Our parents might 
Be accomplished or
Just eccentric or
A little unhinged.
We like to think we
Alone are special
We deny them that
Uniqueness we think
Makes us distinct
And special. We want
To keep that for
Ourselves.