leaf and her form

i have no poetry
for the echo of
the real, the form
of it and itself.

what can be love
if not a leaf, but also the shadow
of the leaf that was found
beside herself one day?

this fallen thing
that came to rest
here and placed her essence
nearby, thus leaving her
slightly removed.

that love in her various
natures is the thing sensed
- by smell or touch or sound
or taste or seen by these ruined eyes -

but also the thing above that
and therefore beyond it,
or in this case
beside it.

i was merely walking,
with no aim except not
backwards, when i
came to her this way;

her and her stronger self,
the shaken leaf
left to decay, dropped from
a congregation of

leaves whose cathedral
above me had not yet
released all its spreading
palms.

the perceived next to
the real is how i came
to understand what i
was witness to.

because what i have
come to know is that
both live as attracting
opposites, one the

same as the other,
but the other more
pure and more purely
elevated

so that i could believe
in the truth of the one
by witnessing the
shadow of the other.

which is to say
that i have sensed
love but not confirmed it until
just in this transitory moment.

i have lived among
it everywhere, but
now, only now, have
gained faith of its reality.

something does this for
us, gifting glimpses
of gold in the veins of
life to keep us true.

love is a leaf
gone to earth,
and love is what it is, and
best viewed as what it is without.

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delightful

remove yourselves, friends;
take yourselves out of the hall and
pack up the remnants of the day
in the echoing wake of all those condolences.

bind the bouquets with the bunting
of all your will, pocket them
as you leave through the door
and place them somewhere at home.

discard the starched shirts and the
pleated dresses; hamper the clothes
worn in the mists of sorrow and
elation that flowed in the tears.

remove yourselves forthwith;
and go back out into that world
from which the dearly has departed,
that gray-gray world of quandaries.

vacate the omens and the aspersions
of the lesser souls who've played at your
fears and poked at your eyes like
needles of light.

see the after-gone of her as an entry
that leads you beyond the cold
interior of those lousy moments
that once bound you to despair.

and see her blow you a captivating kiss,
or whisper you a fantastic fairy tale,
or sing you a silly song,
or dance you into a temperate light.

fold up the chairs, friends;
remand yourselves to a better place and
skip the receiving lines of hostile
energies so that you can breathe again.

warm-bathe yourself with your lover,
or eat ice cream with the same spoon,
or fold your arms into their soul,
or read great poems to them.

walk along a slender road with your child,
or spray them with words of great zeal,
or swallow their laughter with great gulps,
or cartwheel yourself through their joy.

jar a fistful of errant pennies for your friend,
or nibble on the inner-ear of their victories,
or penetrate their difficult orbit with a burp,
or share with them your favorite flavored happiness.

for the departed has no quarrel,
has no trespassing demons,
has no malignant nights,
has no vanishing days,

and she endeavors to breathe into you
the air of something as surpassing as the stars,
something as fine as euphoria,
something as peaceful as prayer.

so remove yourselves, friends;
take yourselves out of the hall and
pack up the remnants of the day
in the echoing wake of all those condolences.

go home to your lover,
your children,
your friends,
yourself

and be delightful

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come: happiness to her

come: laughter
          and warmth
          and peace
          and serenity
             depth
          and calm
          (to hug)

come: family
          and kids
          and god
          and work
             son
          and church
          and melanie
          and babies
          and freedom
          (for coffee)

come: kids
          and canoeing
          and water
          and laughter
             paul
          and solitude
          and success
          and accomplishment
          and (good) sleep
          (unto mom)

come: memories
          and family
          and friends
          and music
             relief
          and sunshine
          and ocean
          and health
          and silence
          (with travel)

come: contentment
          and gratitude
          and pleasure
          and joy
             nature
          and love
          and community
          and awareness
          and wellness
          (near connection)

come: warm
          and soft
          and pink
          and fuzzy
             furry
          and bright
          and outside
          and breeze
          and leaves
          (within sunlight)

come: smiles
          and laughter
          and cookies
          and snow
             oceans
          and christmas lights
          and babies
          and kindness
          and halloween
          (beyond thunderstorms)

come: ukulele
          and fields
          and quiet
          and flowers
             freedom
          and stillness
          and comfort
          and warm
          and empowered
          (beneath sunshine)

come: daughter
          and nature
          and ocean
          and art
             sunshine
          and music
          and lexapro
          and poetry
          and blankets
          (toward driving)

come: love
          and sunny
          and candles
          and cozy
             laughter
          and coffee
          and free
          and bloom
          and flow
          (throughout stories)

come: family
          and chocolate
          and love (euphemistically used)
          and broadway
             puppies
          and creativity/creation
          and coffee
          (among girlfriends)

come: flowers
          and hunting
          and kayaking
          and fishing
          and gardening
             theater
          and friends
          and family
          and my kids
          (upon the outdoors)

come: family
          and love
          and nature
          and health
             food
          and water
          and adventure
          and discovery
          and knowledge
          (nearest acceptance)

come: laughter
          and comfort
          and love
          and warmth
             family
          and friends
          and passion
          and floating
          and hugs
          and burst
          (around safety)

come: love
           and family
           and friends
           and forehead kisses
              ocean
           and art
           and adventures
           and comfortable silences
           and summer skies
           (along trust)

come: love
           and laughter 
           and belonging
           and peace
              the smell of a wood burning
           and the color yellow
           and children
           and butterflies
           and thunderstorms

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still thinking

she said:
     colorful, adventurous!
and:
     abandoned, forgotten!
and:
     waiting....

then she went quiet as clouds
before:

     still thinking...

i would play with my toys
the same manner in which thunder
storms played with the fears of
dogs.

nothing escaped my
incessant desire to see what
could be turned out when in;
i come with litanies of apologies.

the things purchased by
my parents i laved in mud-
water and tossed against
trees.

as if what was new was something
of a suspect promise and needed to be
put to a mythic test at the hands of
a Pagan, rock-throwing Jentil like me.

they came polished and packaged,
pure as the soul of a newborn;
tidy, and there is a waiting lie in something
so pasteurized.

she said:
     colorful, adventurous!
and:
     abandoned, forgotten!
and:
     waiting....

then she went quiet as clouds
before:

     still thinking...

we had a flea market a mile
from my grandparent's home
and Pappy would take us
young cousins on saturdays.

he made a promise that
he kept: something under a buck
and it's yours, so we
picked over long, weathered

picnic tables that were
daisy-chained together down the
length of the side of the road
by the old shoe factory.

other people's shit
Pappy would growl,
but he always came away with
something.

and so did we: malfunctioning
jack knives or chipped
Budweiser shot glasses
or a dented Boy Scout canteen.

i once came away with
a tin toy that had been handled
so much by some past child
that the paint was ghostly

and the figure of it so
abused that it was difficult
to tell what the toy had been
in its virgin state.

i took it home and
placed it on my bureau
and no one was allowed to
touch it; i ached for its broken story.

it had been played out,
its story caught in the
fingerprints of age and time,
it sang a truth.

i have a lover who sits in
a coverlet of longing,
thinking back upon whatever
it was, now that it is now was.

she thinks:
     colorful, adventurous!
and:
     abandoned, forgotten!
and:
     waiting....

then she goes quiet as clouds
before:

     still thinking...

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