A dull ache where once was longing:
Preaching sermons to brick wall moss
somewhere far from anything
I ever held sacred
Life condensed to a dull ache,
sloughing off parts
until all that’s left is ill-defined, ignorable
A lifetime of anxious moments
compounded into that instant
when I knew she was gone
The totality of alone
in every empty action and memory
where she used to exist
The sharp stab of yet another empty Spring
yet again sprinting towards complete entropy
Offerings:
We wrote those words on slivers of silver, leaving them as offering to the rain.
Watching stacks of ourselves dispersed by magnetic storms which leave no trace,
no hint of ash.
We wrote those words with the patience of saints, in scribe-like care,
and due attention paid to the void.
Waiting at a distance for the ionized smell of rain, which will grant us leave
to walk from that place
into the permanence of unknowing.
*This poem appears in “the void sutras” available on Amazon.com or eBook from smashwords.com