His battered trunk had a cracked hinge,

scuffed and faded from sitting in the sand 

music and fabric tumbled out

–

He shuffled a lot, looking down 

following his feet through memories

–

“The reason, for no particular reason 

to share theosophical flashbacks…” 

has to do with a bookstore gig in the ‘60s

–

“There be leprechauns here,” he said,

gruffly and apropos of nothing 

–

And yet,

the singing voice poured out like molasses,

sweet and a little slow

–

extolling virtues of enchanted snuggling 

and a lion’s roar that might be the ocean. 

The butterfly bush is just about spent,

just a few stragglers unwilling to let go.

A few leaves have blown across the street. 

.

The parking lot is a shabby church,

with drivers barely noticing arrows

or the quiet of nearby houses in afternoon. 

.

Is it a prayer when you can’t put words 

together without breaking down

or is it simply a lament for lost dreams?

The dark doesn’t surprise me

but I’m mystified by stars.

No matter how often I look,

it’s a messy jumble -but magical somehow.

–

It’s effort to look out the window 

when terror lurks 

in a visitor or a squall or 

a garden rabbit upsetting my marigolds.

–

Will I always feel like jumping 

out of my skin or will I settle 

into a quieter place 

without fear of noise or fading away?

–

We’re between storms 

so it’s only natural to seek light 

even if it’s a blinking plane 

and not a star. 

There are at least three pianos 

within two minutes from where I stand 

but my song is stuck in my throat 

because if I open even a little,

who knows if I will sound like 

a gurgling creek or a screeching hawk?

.

I swallow my song again and have no idea

if my walk will become more comfortable 

or more painful – is there a point 

where I can tell the difference?

.

I am at that well-worn place 

where I do not know what to do 

so I keep… doing… walking… sort of 

like a fish that will die without swimming 

but I am not afraid of dying, just the 

stopping part of it all. I hope to go on.