waiting on healing

waiting on healing
waiting on healing

movement is suddenly stopped
for those who exit the choir loft of life

waiting on healing

nobody knows when they will roll 
out of bed with a fall breaking their neck

waiting on healing

the sounds of anthems bounce between
pillars and posts where last century's 
cobwebs have been forgotten

waiting on healing

cross-country visits lessen due to safety
precautions inscribed every morning
with every day's meaning

waiting on healing

some records were made to be 
shattered and broken

waiting on healing
waiting on healing


"After offering him a twenty
for risking his life on a busy highway,
the man who helped change my tire
yesterday said, 'No.  I needed to do this.'"

She answered, "Some people
are not born with an innate sense
of distaste for compassion."

I said, "He was on his way to his
father's funeral and needed
to remember him best with
a generous act."

She said, "Sure beats being lost
in time with absolutely nothing
to do but fill out lifetime subscriptions
to the Life and Times of Other People."

"Do you think there are many people
stranded in the cities and countries 
with no time off?" I asked.

"Stranger things have been known
to have happened in the refugee
camp of life."

Anima Visit

I awoke remembering the visit of the anima who filled my night.  As much as I would like to think she belongs in some biblical sense to me, it is best that I wait for and see to what help is needed by those who do not remember changing their names and where just a bit more comfort, a full-body embrace, creates a generous amount of sunshine that spills out of opened boxes and how some time off helps too, undisturbed by rumors of factions demanding tributes which threaten to strand all subscriptions to life.

Around the Block

We all hope to be admitted to the formal program 
of eye surgeries and getting groceries, returning
from distances traveled where blessings flowed
on Sundays and phone calls were made to
remember truths inspired by change and disrupted
before stable time and mask-wearing.

Some transplants work better than others
allowing a few to become busy once again
making holes in roofs for friends to drop in
unexpectedly, challenging the most
difficult adage, Play can be work, and serving
eggs and toast with strong coffee for breakfast.

And still others grow tired of the noisy routine
of taping window signs to glass demanding
guests cohere to a set of guidelines created
by those who talk a great game but fail to enjoy
their favorite snack and continually wander 
around the block of anxiety in need of weeding.


Trailing a chased desire turned memory,
Age creeps and twists to white life's diadem.
The bench of old men sit in reverie
Asking wisps of air shimmering before them:
“Where did our time go?”  Hours fade and turn.
Withering petals whirl and glance to ground.
“To dust?”  Not yet.  Ashes of flesh still burn,
Yearning for the touch of a lover soon found.
Hidden among pale towns in and out of mist
She dances on lanes of glittering stone.
Outstretched arms encompass all and, kissed,
Inhabitants touch their cheeks, each alone.
     Wonder grows and grows to eternity.
     Human and being wrapped in mystery.


enthusiasms atrophy 
with diminishing interest
and become unrecoverable 
energy lost to the null
so time too becomes late 
for consoling conclusions
to be given to or withdrawn
from those petitioning for
a way to shape something
from the nothing which never
really existed anyway and
kept us from grasping
a peace that refused to arrive