Monday, August 10, 2009

Howling at the moon

for Herb


Reflection is skimming
stop-action attempts
to extract
meaning from memes
identity from immersion
brio from memories

Runes, stars, cards
transfix the amateur prophet
Connection by osmosis
No matter how large
your fistful of keys
you weren’t that important anyway
Caution: Do not become your own museum


Death, however nuanced,
is stark, plain, intractable
unlovely and unloved

People die
of illness and broken hearts
of curable diseases
incurable disillusionment
of creeping infirmities
overactive cells
of argument, vengeance
and no good reason at all
People die
an everyday occurrence
ordinary and equitable
Everyone owns a share

Those at the margins
go first
unpunctuated by notice
unnoticed by most
People die
in a distant land
and next door
People die 
and morning rises 
on the fulsome promise of the sun
Light draws our breath
and hope


We wager
another day
trying to get it right
Civil people
inhabiting civil lives
Live, laugh, learn
Limp, loom, lose
Elders know
harrows futility
Howling at the moon
ought to be academic


Love is a choice
with consequences
The heart opens
to new territory
like tumbling into 
a cupboard 
or a mirror

Love is 
the great eradicator
of experience
and reason
Each heart’s path
unique as snowflakes
vast as galaxies

Choice confounds
lightspeed travel
real as falling in love

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