year end

year end
one last internal audit
before closing the books
on 52 weeks of work and play
(and that combination
we call vacation)
on tearful goodbyes
snapshots of joy
hilarious soundbytes
silent worshipful wonderment
and unexpected betrayals
on dubious victories
and questionable defeats
on close calls
missed calls
and persistent head-scratchers

one last longing look
at things I’d change
things I’d let go
and things I’d repeat
for greater emphasis
at lessons unlearned
principles that dug in, reseeded
and now germinate
in the heart’s winter soil
waiting to explode
in surprising shoots
in months to come
as strange hybrid plants
more resistant
to my attempts
at resistance

one squinting gaze
at what I hope
lies ahead
that I’ll learn
to tell the difference
between my better angels
and the darker ones
and recognize
which ones to dance with
and which ones to wrestle
which ones to ignore
and which to outright
show the door

one moment of wonder
whether next year
I’ll settle
a little deeper in
to my skin
not clenching my eyes
shut to the darkness
while I insist on sleep
nor fearing the light in me
that might peek out
not looking so hard
for my lover’s expression
to guide my own

tend, now
to the inevitable write-downs
write-offs
over-budgets
and missed projections
accept exceptions
expect more to come
the year is over
close the books
and be done

December 2008

intuition

whenever I stray
or walk purposefully toward
what I think to be
the boundary
between orthodoxy
and heresy
I find stark sameness
on either side
nothing overtly perilous
no terror in the landscape
just plain ordinary
hallowed ground
and divine dust
I see footprints
and a narrow path
that is unmistakeably paved
and stretches far
over the horizon’s arc
into tomorrows I’ve yet to tread
and, invariably, I shake my head
smile
wonder who drew this map anyway
and move onward
treading lightly
eyes wide open
tomorrow, another apparent boundary,
another map discarded
and joy in the journey

December 2008

peasenhall lane

returning home
from an evening of holiday levity
gravity awaits
in a stream of urgent messages:
near a place that used to be home,
where only a few innocent hours before
we mailed a Christmas card
to the last known address
of an engaging, thoughtful woman—
Peasenhall Lane
that soothing, thoughtful retreat—
a friend lies dying
in the drugged final throes
of Hospice
our card
and our last best wishes
would never reach her

we hadn’t spoken for a while
hadn’t known she was sick
(though neither did she)
until far too late
shaken by the news,
prayerful,
frustrated that the time to act
long preceded our awareness,
we wonder aloud
what to do with this news
what is appropriate
what is right
and, failing in that understanding,
we creep into the sanctum
of our sleeping child’s room
and find her just as oblivious
of our concerns of the moment
as we have been
of those of our dying friend
we kiss her,
whisper a grateful prayer,
and tiptoe back to our room
to deal with the less restful sleep
the heavier awareness
of adulthood
and begin to mourn
in advance
in absence
in retrospect
in great respect
in sorrow
and in relief
for Christine

December 2008

enough

in the mad
disjointed
transitionless
limbo of sleep
it lies:
an unabashed
declarative
an alternate universe
parallel
only in that
its premises and plots
may never safely coincide
with the plain truths
of waking, walking day
of it I must never speak
nor set its details to page
or any medium
more tangibly fixed
than this fertile palette
of my mind’s eye
the slightest hint
of oxygen
is sure to combust
wake, now
and live where you live

December 2008

kendal on hudson

see blue skies through clouds
share choice words with precious ones:
life is wonderful

December 2008