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Shadow that lingers about,
darkness that never shows through.
Prisoner in the depths of my soul
wishing I had a way out.
Shadow that I cannot see,
darkness that turned into me.
Prisoner I never wanted to be,
needing, wanting,
to be set free.
Once I saw a man in a suit knocked down by a car
He went rolling along the road,
one shoe went off in another direction.
He rolled into a sitting position,
he had a small package in his hand.
He raised it to his ear and shook it.
Then he said fuckit
and fell over and didn’t move any more.
So sue me,
I laughed.
A succession of headlands fades mistily,
soft europeanly,
so unlike our fiercely factual australian light.
I expect a dragon to swoop from the clouds,
or at least a viking longship to appear.
they don’t
perhaps its best that way.
Noah’s children
were lost at sea
two hundred – seventy four days
give or take.
And Noah’s children
couldn’t grasp the idea
of life without civility.
Noah’s children
weren’t irrepressant braggarts.
And Noah’s children
slept two hundred – seventy four nights
on hard wood floors
in the cold bowels of a ship
lost at sea.
Noah’s children didn’t care
for the latest cause for Earth Day.
Noah’s children sacrificed little
for companionship.
And Noah’s children prayed
two hundred – seventy four days consecutive
The bugs are asleep
about two o clock at night
tell me there’s no God.
Here are the sunflowers
I intended for your birthday.
Here is the cruise
we planned on taking someday,
and never got around to.
Here comes the next round,
in the game of lines we made up,
now dropped and strewn around the living room floor
that I don’t dare pick up.
Here’s the carousel picture
in Union Station
when we were so young and happy.
Here’s Sunday morning, Chicago on a dime,
when I felt so trusted.
Here’s baby geniuses,
and broken hearts,
and foodlife credit cards.
God is good
God is great
and we thank you
for
our plate
of lima beans
and jeef berky.
Back when I met my wife
she was St. Joe’s girl.
When I met her she was shy
and didn’t have a name.
Now she has two.
She is St Joe’s girl,
but better still
she is mine.
At night,
there is nothing warmer than her,
she is St. Joe’s girl -
an incredible survivor.
We can have
incredible conversations,
and incredible heart.
She is St. Joe’s girl,
she is incomparable.
She tells me there is love
in our little home.
I see this in our children,
and in its lived in feel.
She is St. Joe’s girl,
Desert that cracks,
dries in the sun.
Desert that has no water
to make it one.
A land barren,
a land living.
Never knowing,
which comes first.
Desert that sings,
a soft tune.
Desert like me,
slowly dying, soon.
Smells of fresh morning dew,
nothing in the air but cold, fog.
Sounds of wildlife renewed,
all animals make their noises, the frog.
Sights of a new day,
little flowers,
in a meadow.
Sway in winds.
All secrets of a night,
locked away,
kept from this new day.
For nights to come.