on Memorial Day
#crossingover #giftoflife #living #memorialday #momentomori #now #remember
All the way. Your eyes, senses, sensibilities. Fill them
Burnished at first, then blemished— an earthly foreshadowing. Then bearded for a while.
A man rides his bicycle on the sea. Salt rubs the tires. Sun reflects on the soles of his shoes.
However tender, and moist. The golden skin, supremely crisp. The stuffing,
Back in time, a romantic era of English Time, they used to send a son or daughter off
The only thing warm tonight in the deep winter sky ~ and soon to occlude. The Wolf Moon, Ice Moon, Old Moon.
The Maine woods. The coastal woods. Where coming into Spring he resides, is at home. Where he keeps a fire burning
Those many, sung and unsung, who gave themselves, often gave up their lives, to fight, in wars,
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
While the town sleeps and dreams behind me. And pined islands lay silently, invisibly off the salt-tongued shore.
It was a wet signature. Full of emotion. Full of eroticism. Still wet, with sweat
To ask your Self. In the still of the night, whether bright-starred or half-mooned. In the midst of the day,
A frosted cake layered with cars and people, rosetted with gulls, points out toward quiet afternoon islands.
Good to mark it each year on the world’s calendar. But I celebrate it every day.
Blonde head under baobab. Sun under shade. You sit on an African day,