on Memorial Day
#crossingover #giftoflife #living #memorialday #momentomori #now #remember
However tender, and moist. The golden skin, supremely crisp. The stuffing,
After you uncork him and he appears in a serpentine of white smoke. Before he grants you
The keys to the house, or car. The address of a restaurant. The grocery list. The name of a tree or bird or passing acquaintance.
Burnished at first, then blemished— an earthly foreshadowing. Then bearded for a while.
Those many, sung and unsung, who gave themselves, often gave up their lives, to fight, in wars,
You, Picasso aigu in your summer straw shading blue eyes and sailor stripes, juggling a bubble of cold wine.
It arrives on a warm white cloud. It arrives on soft rolls of ocean waves along a sand pebbled shore. It arrives on a bed
Motoring solo through the immense, silent, parted heart of the forest of Chinon. The birdsong air
Who wore a green plastic visor the color of a ginger ale bottle. Who had a raspy voice and Charles Coburn kind of face. A forever bachelor
The courtly old lady, widowed for decades, and her calico cat, who take each afternoon sun
When the Moon moves between our Sun, Earth and up-raised eyes, through the long-held breath of our wisdom-keepers,
Land dwellers. Sea rovers. Tillers. Spelunkers. Before you ask the questions many ask; have asked since man
All the way. Your eyes, senses, sensibilities. Fill them
Of my family name. One day, 150 years ago. In a Castle Garden where Jenny
Once cloud-high mountains, shaped and worn from hundreds of millions of rainfalls, windfalls, frosts. Rounded now