Tremors
Night after night
the old man’s head
explodes with ghosts,
past tense dreams
he took to bed
clamoring within him,
wunderkammers
filled with faltering
voices of the dead.
*****
Once I was caught
in a crazy place
where sudden death
lived under every rock.
Only pure luck
brought me home,
gifted me with time.
Now I’ve said
what I had to say.
Everyone’s luck
runs out one day.
*****
A friend,
a book,
a garden,
a pen,
a convivial world.
A sanctuary
to enjoy
before the
inevitable
encroaching
end.
*****
We are not
distinct characters
that develop
as in a novel
with its
patterned strife,
but accumulated
fragments,
pieces of pieces,
images we collect,
and call a life.
*****
Truth is not a thing
to be owned.
It is a portal
into a room.
Never original.
Whole in itself.
Heard again.
A copy of an echo.
Living only where
the heart can sing.
*****
History grinds us
very small.
Particulate matter
remains as grains
blown to the
four corners.
We are, we were,
soon forgotten,
we disappear
into the all.
*****
I have dreamed myself
back to where I began.
The dreamer who dreams.
Not the man he seems.
