Circulation

A breakneck pace

of a hungry dog feeding on limited marrow

savoring the small bone

A fortune of effortless breathing

but a numbered heartbeat

A thrum of pulse igniting the sequence

miles of hills and valleys, the careening stream

movement..movement..movement

An epoch, faint gentle hands pushing through the gate

gate after gate after gate

Opening to the next meandering expedition

toward an inevitable grief

A brain synapse reminds of the impermanence

each moment a variation of the last

Tick..tick.. tick...

A going, a return

Respiration

Life in,

And suspended..

The exchange

Between purity and poison

There is a pause

No fluctuation..

No movement...

Then, a sweeping,

the dust of the exhale, life released.

Ah, the activity of the honeycomb seems constant,

A din of inspirited hum

Not to be restrained...

Then, the voluntary hold

To reconsider the silence

Between life and not life

And the soundless breath

Before heeding to the pressure

Forced to acquiesce to the purging

To redeem my very essence

There

There was a day in summer
when I rode my bike
to go passed it

Then I stopped a moment
to let my imagination unwind
to recollect the scent of viburnum
to let my mind wander along the edge
of a neatly placed railroad tie
to see
the spirea bursting bridal white
from the edge of the maturing trees

Trees that used to be a gangly young wood
before being cleared away
to accommodate the building
of a sturdy gray structure with black shutters
amid the chaos of wild grapevine, hickory and locust

I recall the pink and white impatiens
neatly planted each beside the other,
beside the other...
And the red walkway
brick to brick held together with new sand
leading to the front door
which when opened
allows a breeze through the entryway
to the back doors
to a wooden deck
sitting high on hand-built footers
absorbing all the energy of the
golden rays
a skin seering heat when touched
awaiting the protection of the canopy's
shade
with the birds which will come to sup
at the feeders
come evening

And in my mind's eye
there are the screens readied and clean
waiting below each window
for their seasonal turn
and a sweating glass of melting ice
leftover
from a quenched thirst
and two folding chairs
and a wrought iron plant stand
freshly painted a light yellow
or maybe off-white..
there is a stream
in all it's meandering
and the odd shape of the side yard

the unwound hose
the wheelbarrow
and spade
the opened doors of the garage
the dogwood
the evergreen
once spindly and hopeful...

Here the thought wanders forward
beyond the bedrock driveway

And back to now
and to the red bike that doesn't belong there
nor it's reminiscent owner

And the memory
folds itself up like an old lover's letter
neatly placed back in it's tucked awayness

The sun
hot and clear
shining on the upturned face
to a new sky

And a mower hums
a dog barks

While I pedal forward again
back from where I came

A wee sound picked up
and carried by the air
underneath the doorway
dancing down the stairs
through the kitchen
bouncing lightly
off the walls
narrowing inside
the tunneled hall
muffled and squeezing
beneath the bedroom door
and a quick sweep
to pirhouette around the corner
so tender and small
alighting so soft on the
the tiniest bones
in the human body
as a gift
unwrapped
Sweet song of a bathing child
Sweet song

Late
She said mumbling,
Did you remember to
set the alarm?
He told her bumbling,
Erm..yes
She was all fumbling,
It's still winter
outside
He replied grumbling,
But I set it for
Spring...

Raphael Darling
Blue wading pool
Bronzed skinned
In bright sunlight

Little boy sings
Wonders about
A twinkling star
One thousand years dead

No matter
Only this day exists
In sparkling water
Contained in round plastic

He stands in the middle
Reaching limbs to the light
No movement
A naked fountain

Sweet cherub
With Fishes
Spitting water
To heaven