From up here
so wide is the stretch
of the sea
so low is the spread
of the sky
our broken talk is
heard within
our own hearts only.
Words from the Jagged Edge of Truth
From up here
so wide is the stretch
of the sea
so low is the spread
of the sky
our broken talk is
heard within
our own hearts only.
Behind the curtain of rain
all things move slowly
and deliberately
and slightly out of focus;
we make our way
through the mist,
mere shadows of ourselves.
These shallow eyes
hold a silent conversation
Behind dark glasses in the sun
While faces talk without moving
Helen has no hair
but she has a smile
and she uses it
even when it’s raining,
even when it’s cold,
even when she is afraid
of the dark.
Won’t you walk across the bridge
Cross that river deep and wide
Sleep beneath the cold, pale moon
That strips your bones to white
Each day from the washing line
we bring in fresh clothes
and dress ourselves all over again,
the outer garment
seeming to refresh the inner.
Small dog walks with old person
twice daily down the long beach.
Small dog is both today and tomorrow
and every reason to believe.
At least I have stopped long enough
to know i must stop more often;
and if I stop more often,
I will have at least stopped long enough.
The moon rises between torn sheets,
looks through cold eyes
upon the lifeless form
of the sleeping dawn
and drops from the sky.
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