How close can you get to the horizon,

how far does infinity feel

 

How near can you get to the distance,

that pulls, but then never reveals

 

(Dreamsleep: May, 2020)

Writing pains my hand

—as it eases my heart

 

(Strafford Pennsylvania: November, 1976)

The rock,
stands against the wind in centuries old calm

Counting the years until our baptism,
sinking deeper still

Stoic to tell
lest we forget, engraved on a hill of blinding sun

Of barefoot painted dancers,
and children—future come

(Mesa Verde Colorado: October, 1976)

Monuments of distraction,

portals from hell

The gates, the temptation,

where the misguided dwell

Three dimensions the material,

where emptiness hides

The lions all roaring

from cages inside

The pathways worn smooth,

the comfort is there

The direction indifferent,

when worn with a flair

The roads have all ended,

turned in on themselves

And darkness locks tightly,

all souls on the shelf

The shadows of lateness,

behind monuments fall

Where seeds never sewn,

grow heavy and tall

In an orchard of indulgence

the trophies are stained

The fruit of the promise

rots endorsed in your name

The music is dimming,

there’s darkness ahead

Those memories that haunt us,

escort us to bed

Where the covers are pulled back,

and the curtains are tied

All change now beyond us

. . . in mourning we lie

(Shiprock New Mexico: May, 1996)

A Poet first,

long before the first word

 

Musings inherent

—crying to be heard

 

(Dreamsleep: May, 2020)

Give me back my kidnapped youth,

distiller of the night

 

Return the sun from whence it’s gone,

expose this darkened fright

 

Give me back the future-past,

all memory on the run

 

Return those days once sold unborn

—to where my joy has gone

 

(Villanova Pennsylvania: May, 2020)

The prostrate lizard,
hated savior,
crawls the crooked road to the city

Figures, sinking with the light,
bending your prayers
—watching the sun

Light retreats
as shadows leave,
emptying space for a new awareness

Its carnal madness
telling again and again
—how far you’ve come

(West Philadelphia: December, 1972)

The top of the mountain

—how do you spell alone

 

(Dreamsleep: May, 2020)

Everyone’s life is tragic,

but who calls out the score

 

The Jester or the Hangman,

the Undertaker sure

 

Everyone’s nights are haunted,

when sleeping with the Muse

 

Each dream a wanton barter

—your memories to lose

 

(Haverford Pennsylvania: May, 2020)

Jazz without melody,

an arm with no hand

 

A heart without blood

—a sea with no land

 

(Dreamsleep: May, 2020)