I’M GOING HOME TODAY

The hills are dry, they lost their color
early this year; and the water level
of the lake just outside of town is slowly dropping.
Will the history that pulsates through us
one day be lost?

I hope there are more true friends
out there, for us all, but especially for you.
I’m going home today, that’s all I know.
It’s different for everyone.
Can we still find our way back?

We made it through
the river’s drops, with little left of our
battered raft. And it’s hard now to say goodbye,
with the battle still somewhere off in the distance.
What will we find once we get there?

More letters from places far away reach me
than letters from home, I hope these faces
never get lost in my mind.
Will I forget what it was like to be out in the cold
if I can’t hear my voice?

(June 18, 2008)

A CHALLENGE TO MYSELF TODAY

The sunrise is more enjoyable
without the dark things
people say, when it is the link
between you and friends that are far away.

(June 16, 2008)

A LONG TIME AGO

Some people
we don’t know how to understand; they’re all
crowded outside the window
and your door. But the book today
still has a more welcome opening,
as I predicted.

It’s hard, sometimes. And lonely—
how we still hang around here,
with no strings to hold us
in place, just because it’s familiar.

Take a few steps back, and everything
is still out in the distance—the strong memories,
a twisted line, stopped clocks, the sun moving
towards the horizon. There is still laughter
in the air, maybe one of the only things left.

Things can get better, we can grow
stronger. And it can all go back
to the way it was, asking, “What should we do now?”
And there will be more silence, but uneffective
silence, the kind we usually have
when we don’t know what to do anymore.
We can leave it up to the tide, and we usually do
because it’s easier that way; maybe the pain
won’t come back.

And still, you find a way
for your breathing to fall into rhythm
with the earth’s. One day,
we won’t live here anymore.

(June 15, 2008)