Lost Song

Somewhere, at some time, someone

Will discover this lost song, and be as one—

As one as the song, and one as the one 

Who sings it. Let fade Time’s protean decree.
Here, we exist in eternity. Let this be the sieve

That carries the gold from the river,

The endless sunrise that stirs you

From your troubled slumber.

Let your awakening be a perfect reconciliation,

Your every gesture, an act of faith.

The air breathes into your lungs its aromatic breath,

And you breathe into the song. The song, in turn,

Breathes into your soul, and the souls

Of all who hear it. And within your soul

There is a promise being kept, an eternal embrace

Between the infinite aspects of your being,

A tender kiss between all that you know

And all that you are now learning, a Truth

That makes you tremble, that makes you weep.

Keep reading. Soon this song will not be lost,

And both of us—you who read and I who write—

Will find what it is that we seek.

Afternoon in Boston Common 11/16/19

My eyes behold a sun-drenched field

Of bright green grass 

Strewn with shimmering leaves

Made silver in the sunlight.

A young couple saunters around,

Bending down to pet a little squirrel

Who has learned to comingle with the people

In this park of peace.

The church bells play a merry,

Then a somber song.

I wander along, and I myself stop to say hello

To a little squirrel. 

I take a seat on a green bench along the walk

To watch the passersby and think 

Peaceful and solemn thoughts.
A young man walking by—from out of nowhere, it seems—

Approaches me with his hand extended. 

I shake it warmly.

He offers me a hug, and I don’t find this strange

In the least. I get up and embrace him,

He wishes me a good day, and I him,

Then he goes on his way.

Overwhelmed with gratitude, but a little

Dubious, I watch the leaves skip across

The pavement in the gentle breeze,

And the many shades of yellow, red, orange, and green 

Of trees lit up by the sun,

Two squirrels as they run

Around the thick base of a sprawling oak,

And the people—the wonderfully mysterious

People—who have so much love to give,

They can barely restrain their hearts from bursting

Just from the simple sweet connections
They make along the way.

Prosperity

On a cool, rain-soaked night in Autumn,

I passed a homeless man sleeping on a bench.

He was covered in a heavy blue blanket

Drawn up to his chin. He seemed so peaceful.

Tomorrow, he will need his breakfast, I thought,
So I reached into my pocket and pulled out some change.

I put it on the blanket and walked away.

Now, as it turns out, I am low on money,
But I won’t starve. Even if I have to turn to begging,

I’ll have this poem to offer in return.

Untitled

I.
You wanted answers, I gave you answers. You didn't like the answers, so you cursed me. Because you cursed me, I turned my back on you and blocked out the sun. In darkness, you banded together with your rebels and lit fires in the dark. You raised your sword against me. Still I did not turn to face you. You stabbed me in the back and I bled into the sea. I wept, causing The Great Deluge that drowned you. In death, you approached me, however timidly. You bowed down at my feet and wept. I forgave you. You asked for nothing more.

II.
The sun was weary, and the sky was cold. I asked God one question. I can't remember what it was. But He answered me. He said, "You have fire and water, a body and a soul. All your questions will be answered in time. Worship the sky if you must, or worship the earth. But know this, I have created greater things than these, that you have not seen. Does that make you afraid? It should. Good. Now take this kiss that I offer you. In it lies the secret to love. Should you forget, look at sun, look at the moon, look at the stars, look at the earth. It will remind you, and you shall pass like a wind into wonderment.

III.
Bathe your breath upon these words. Your tongue is wet, and so are your eyes. You have longed for this moment since you welcomed the shadow into your house. Fire wants to know everything all at once, and thus, it destroys everything. Everything but water. Bathe in the water of these words. Answer the call to oblivion before it takes you for good.

On the Road

My feet study closely the apocryphal scriptures

of the road. The stars above me sing the Te Deum.

I wonder why. I myself am singing an old song

from deep in my memory. I know why. 

There is faith in the song, for it carries me. 

Faith I create, with words and melody.

I have faith in the moon, the buxom 

proprietress of the sky. 

Ambassador of my soul, my song

is old and wizened, and brings with it

a message of peace. Won’t you welcome him?

Even now there is a feast being prepared

in his honor. He is starving, and will gladly eat.

Give him wine, let him drunkenly speak.

The road is long, and its scripture enigmatical,

but the truths it espouses are good fodder

for my song. The stars keep singing,

as if to welcome me to heaven.

But I am not ready to go there yet.

Give me the long, strange, burdensome road

that I might keep singing, and my old diplomatic song 

may offer the world a perfect, if momentary, peace.

Wake or Sleep

Thrust as one desperate cry for love

out of the shapeless eons past,

all from a whim this conflagration spread

and will continue to burn till this forest of eternity

is ash. Never will it be ash.

That is what the stars seem to say, at least.

That is the promise that is hidden in the lover’s voice.

You want to know why there are shadows

moving in and out of this poem?

It is because all lovers desire a private space

to make love, and then rest.

Sleep here if you like.

Or wake, if you are sleeping.

Eternally

Await, but secretly, the perfect refuge

of the lover’s embrace. Here, where Time

swallows its judgments and goes about

its business with quiet, ironical repose,

there is no room for space—our bodies

must possess one another and everything else,

every minutia of truth must be discovered

with an infinitude of kisses—here a kiss

from the blue sky, there a kiss up from the earth.

We are children hanging on to the edge of innocence.

We weep tears that become the morning dew.

Our bodies are the instruments through which

our love plays the music of our souls.

Within you, without you, it doesn’t matter.
I know you now, eternally.

Antediluvian Depths

My shadow struck the earth and shattered

into a million butterflies at dawn.

Darkness immersed itself in an ocean of light

and found treasures there

that reflected back the stars.

I have wept such that my tears have risen up

in a cloud of mist that veiled me

shielded me from the eyes

of those whose cups I would fill

and make drunk on the sweet nectar of my song.

The cloud lifts, and, now with

the grace of a once-hidden beauty revealed,

my voice takes over where my tears left off.

Whose tears are these that mix with my own?

This question hangs like the sun—a vision

unattainable by the eyes—over my head,

and my every breath tells a story that began

in the antediluvian depths, where love met hate

and day met night, and made peace with one another
before creating life.

Elegy for Maggie

If years were counted by time spent in love,

Dog years is what you’d get.

For never did she lose her sweetness

Or turn away from a caress,

Never did she look upon me

With anything but sheer innocence.

Time took away her strength to walk

But never her strength to love.

Her heart—oh, bold organ!—that has now stopped

Took with it a thousand great legends,

But the one we have to remember her by

Is her one great life—may it spread like wildfire!

Oh Maggie, sweet dog, your legend

Will be on the tip of my tongue, till the day
That I, too, must die.