Questioning the Why of my days

with their varied meter and purpose,

I can only tell you what I think-

because I know so very little:

Mostly I know few things matter

in the end because in the end,

there’s either quiet or music,

patterns or darkness,

there will be healing or we’ll forget,

you’ll be there or you won’t,

stories will last until they don’t,

and there’s little I know now

that means more than what I knew at six.

I asked for a sign

but wouldn’t open my eyes

because the sound of backyard birds

felt like a caress.

It was like we were at the pond

and it was early in the evening.

There was plenty of time for ice cream.

Please don’t go yet.

It seems quiet below the water

but it’s hard to get comfortable

when I can’t feel the weight of things.

I’ve made several bridges,

mostly imaginary, to link the real

and the construct I seem to crave.

Sometimes we soar; often we fall.

Imagine dancing on rooftops

with no fear of what’s below!

If there’s a choice,

why not see the loveliness of shadow

and hear the heartbreaking joy

of birds tearing up a morning sky?

The sun breaks and so do I.

A King Crab took hold of the moon

and shook it over the river,

making reeds quiver on the bank.

Lights from a thousand lonely hearts

shimmered from towers of the city.

A few miles away, the forest sighed.

She moaned his name as clouds fell.