Look out upon the garden, a wither of tangled vines unharvested fruits hang cracked and past their time mist, softer than a lover’s goodbye kiss, whispers promises and memories. The windblown leaf a tiny prayer of thanks an ode to letting go. In the dawn, still fog shrouded, a peaceful moment lulls, calling to mind memories of gatherings and grace. Time and tide, channeled where once they meandered, sing the algorithm for this age, our age of bitter ironies and dreams come true.

I dreamed the old man last night Driving cross country road turned north, and as in dreams, no one noticed, the shoulder crumbled like a leaf we fell looking up where the road went on without us. In the logic of dreams, I remembered the old cellar holes on the island…

An age of infinite irony:

100 degrees in the land of ice and snow Polar bear’s got nowhere to go All that was perma, about to be lost

Love arrives with our first breath a presence of light so easy, and so discounted, taken for granted, repeated so often, words lose meaning set aside, like glasses or shopping lists Later, love, luster lost, becomes work a commodity, bought and sold, traded transactional displayed, measured in carats, or emojis written in short…

somehow, maybe by the nagging tug of images, I thought were securely lodged in the rearview mirror, or a shift in the bend memory puts in the orbit of events, or by the sheer and singular gravity of tragedy, or the loom of shadows, reaching across history, but somehow, vanquished ghosts appeared cross legged…

A star is born makes it sound so easy, painless bit of destiny just follow the bouncing ball As if incantation was enough book of spells, a charm, love potion number nine Trot out the self-help chorus nine out of ten doctors, dentists, pharisees Advise, admonish, absolve, repeat And so…

I am in a US frame of mind over thought and under done living on slogans and promises cruising easy street, making the scene on sunset boulevard, caught in traffic down on the corner of hollywood and vine leather skinned surfer boys and girls bow legged cowboys age don’t ride easy on…

Long ago is gone, but never far away, I am an overlay here, in another age, a hunter knelt beside her prey and asked forgiveness recognizing her need had dealt the mortal blow acknowledging the sacred bond between all life giving equally, fierce praise and thanks and sorrow for the loss once less bird to mark…