Thursday, February 26, 2009


Wonder like miasma intrudes

Seeking guidance in foreign terrain

my fingers trace

the hole in my chest

my heart’s domain

I wonder if it’s possible

to scoop up the good times

horde them like a precious salve

anoint when needed


to coax a smile

in a fading afternoon

I wonder if you can see

through my lies

made up excuses

for staying one more

one more hour

I am brave for a day

for a night

for as long as it takes

I’ve sworn myself to silence

I wonder if the muscle disappearing

under your skin

will reveal the bones broken

in childhood accidents

if the memories dropping like bombs

from the hatches of your mind

will reveal the absence of you

Wonder is a gift best given

to the young

whose blood affirms life

unimpeded by anticipated grief

1 comment:

Laurie Gudim and Rosean Amaral said...

What a treasure you are, my friend! Thanks so much for sharing this. I love the image of scooping up good times and hoarding them to use as a salve, esp. juxtaposed with the image of staying for just one more hour. Powerful.