lonesome none can bear ~


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when crickets moan
their soulful song –
without regard for light
denied the proof
dying might ignite
mystery of wire and rim
violins somewhere
bend against the stillness –
a lonesome none can bear
I knew you then
you heard my smile
across the night’s embrace
while crickets
kept reminders –
a melody of grace

. . .


shadows gathered ’round ~


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bury me
beside the place
where once returned
a world apart
sever not
this longing –
this sorrow
from my heart

moments meld
to others –
as ashes into tears
the long way back
forgotten now
as memory
to years

another day
a wiser sun –
where shadows gathered
was evermore
a promise made
– as whispers
without sound

. . .

beyond ~


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beyond the fretted edge
of want –
are stories worn by time
moments bent to longing
– by promise undefined

I cannot say
or will the words
for fear this ache
would chafe my soul –
with verses I’ve forgotten now
truth I used to know

sans the parting
once we shared –
mornings wrapped in dew –
I woke to find
I’d dreamed beyond
the memory of you

. . .

with ease ~


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how it was

I don’t recall the way
so weary –
or the sunset
quite this bright –
curtains drawn
to keep the world at bay

as ever still
tis loved and well –
as I am sure one truth remains
to satisfy this longing
within my heart’s

what of years
lay stretched behind
dusted now –
forgotten when
will come a dream awakened
o, what will matter then

. . .

on father’s day ~


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A friend shared this with me on father’s day.

I wish I were the author.
I wish I didn’t know what the author speaks of.


Disappearing Fathers
by Faith Shearin

Sometime after I turned forty
the fathers from my childhood began disappearing;
they had heart attacks during business dinners
or while digging their shovels
into a late April snow.

Some fathers began forgetting things:
their phone numbers,
which neighborhoods belonged to them,
which houses.
They had a shortness of breath,
the world’s air suddenly too thin,
as if it came from some other altitude.

They were gone:
the fathers I had seen dissecting cars in garages,
the fathers with suits and briefcases,
the fathers who slipped down rivers
on fishing boats and the ones
who drank television and beer.
Most of my friends still had mothers
but the fathers were endangered, then extinct.

I was surprised, though I had always known
the ladies lasted longer;
the fathers fooled me with their toughness;
I had been duped by their jogging and heavy lifting,
misled by their strength when they slapped
me on the back or shook my hand.

I kept imagining I would see them again:
out walking their dogs on the roads
near my childhood house,
lighting cigars on their porches,
waving to me from their canoes
while I waited on shore.

. . .