there was a day like thursday

there was a day like thursday
that began with thoughts, no,
concerns for you;
that your tender grieving heart
had found peace in the night

there was a day like thursday
that unfurled in pink, wispy streaks
of morning light above the hills,
only to surrender to regiments
of clouds marching in from the north

there was a day like thursday
that flooded my mind, my spirit
with warm, incandescent light
that wore your name, your voice, your words,
defying the menacing darkness

there was a day like thursday
that carried its cadence in a basket,
seconds, minutes, hours spilling out
onto soft grass, dancing toward the west,
the colors of sunrise
embraced by the colors of sunset

there was a day like thursday...
a day like no other

Ich habe geweint

I cried.
I cried this week.
I cried over things seemingly disconnected.

Mournful tears

the fresh scars of tire tracks and ruts on the lower trail leading to the lake

having to resort to killing a wasp building a nest in the doorframe of the cottage when she/he was not amenable to being relocated

photos of the corpse of Abu Musab al-Zarqawi shortly after he was killed

loneliness

Joyful tears

Mocha running as fast as she can across the meadow with a crazed smile on her face

hearing and feeling in my marrow my own voice joining others in creating a perfectly tuned chord

remembering who I am

knowing what I need to be happy

I cried.
I cried this week.
I cried over things seemingly disconnected...

Shallow Grave

I've fallen to my knees
digging with hands
too small for ground so hard
...where shall I bury it?

I've fallen to my knees
pleading with wind
too vast to gather in my arms
...how will I capture it in my gunnysack?

I've fallen to my knees
listening for a melody
too distant to soothe aching senses
...when will its familiar cadence draw near?

I've fallen to my knees
fallen face first into a shallow grave
too small to pull in over me
...what creature will stumble upon the debris?

Will it be spring?

The Lost Season

Yesterday was filled with awe.
Even clinging to the hope of one more day,
they knew their destiny was to be a soft, damp blanket
cushioning the blow of footfalls and cleansing bitter tears.
Still, the air was filled with the glory of an autumnal hymn
as they fell to the ground.

Today, all has been washed away.
Outstretched arms of ancient growth draw down the sky
closer and closer until all has gone gray.
The sky cries out and tips of branches answer,
catching tears in mid air.
Rivulets cascade through cracked and caloused bark,
suffocating the fire...the sting of a lost season.

Tomorrow, all will be silent...
save the wailing of the wind through my heart.