poem – Page 248 – The Word Rummager

When the tide ebbs and my feet aren’t covered with gritty foam
When the moon is swallowed up by waves and darkness
When I can no longer stand in the cold all alone
It will finally be over.

The struggles of the bird against the wind
The troubles my tongue causes when words fly
The tedious minutiae of days that do not end
Numb the pain of each loss.

When I climb the hills and look my fill
The other side may be in darkness
But the comfort of a new chapter
Will ease the awkward strain.

The seas look very calm
The light is just enough
I am warm and held tightly
I can let go.

so much better in silhouette
fine lines blurred at the edges
only the vague form can be detected
but for those looking closely
there remains sharp sadness
and great gaping holes of loss and doubt
but mostly people will see
a figure in all its regularity, lacking a spark
but it’s there! just sift through cobwebs and look
there will be cutting remarks and caustic wit
to keep out interlopers
but secretly arms are open wide
waiting to be filled
and filled with something good
it can be so hard when someone else holds the timepiece
to move anywhere but backwards
there is a path leading to joy
with stops at denial and forgiveness
not for others, just for the observer
let go and breathe deeply the simple silhouette
will shadow your whole journey
embrace then leave when you let go

Words can’t fill gaping holes in rock
Rebuilding doesn’t bring back the past
Only echoes of feeling remain
Only shadows of memories
I can’t bring myself to talk to a stone
Or visit a quiet place that smells of mothballs and platitudes
I would much rather visit you where it’s green
And the river sounds like your laughter

Others want to bring flowers or wear ribbons
While I want to run and run until I can’t stand it
To be so tired I can’t think anymore
So I fill up on other things

I read but the smell of the page reminds me of you
I sing but I choke on any words that try to escape
I walk and know you’re nearby and waiting
So I shiver and hope for more time

Tripping into mansions full of bird songs and breezes
Grasses nearby sway in the wind
The musty attic inside me is swept neatly under the rug
So many shades of dust swirl together
Are forgotten when I step outside
My skin drinks up the sunshine but my hands stay cold
Trying to keep my grip in the present but it’s hard to even want to let go
Because I don’t want to remember almost as much as I don’t want to forget

Incredible lightness settled where confusion had been dwelling
Wisps of ideas swirled like stale smoke looking for breathing room
Stepping through memories and hopes
Trying to find a path that speaks to stars
That shine in my eyes when I dream and wonder

Walking through the twinkling dusk
The trees swaying and whispering lullabies
I struggle to keep my eyes open
As water and music and fading sunshine melt
Keeping my starkest thoughts at bay

If notes could keep themselves
And hopes could flower in living color
The songs would turn sweeter and not bluesy
My arms reach out to grasp something to hold
Not quite bereft but not brimming either

Floating through the air thick with thoughts
It can be easy to settle on one or two
But to be true instead of safe
To stay open is the rougher path
And it keeps the heart thrumming.

He was a genius waiting in the wings
Watching her grab other souls for a dance
He laughed with her as she played with their hearts
But his own cracked when she took her stilettos to tango with the statue
The granite was really clay and it became hers to mold
Somehow the simian moved with her, guiding her in a heathen tempo
He wanted to be the one to smite the Greek and step out of the quagmire and into her arms
But he was only a superman when he was alone
He couldn’t keep her from sharks and weasels and wolves and even the more dangerous sheep
Those who would teach her things he would try to erase
So she would meld her mind with others
Which was OK
As long as eventually she stopped dancing with clowns and fawners
And remembered there were good silent film heroes waiting in the wings
She would get tired and he would be the genius smart enough to read her
They would fit like a hand sliding into a glove
And they would share enough moments to make it count.