The Cabin

There were dedications and promises,

Carved into its sides,

Entire lives and deaths,

Written around the cracks,

And both intimate and private wars,

Remembered inside the knots.

Cut off my tongue if I speak ill of you,

Cut off my hand if I do you wrong.

Time to Take Me

Please take me under the cherry trees,

With bluets to hear my final satisfactions,

Stories about you all,

My friends,

Stories until you can see every one of them behind my eyes.

The Cycles

When we are gone,

An others take our place,

Perhaps with houses of their own,

Or even liver spots and pensions,

Will our eyes still meet the same?

Will I hear this note until I have no ears?

An Admonishment

Even while we are meant, destined,

Encouraged and driven forward,

Let us also be here,

In laughter or silence or whatever that means.

Materials for Building

Tonight, a nod to

a youth of curves,

games and quick brushes,

rushes of foreign flowers.

Warm forms that rested

under unpolluted stars,

alerting any and all to the importance

that comes with investing belief.

Spoken Threads

Just to be there,

Privy to all the whispers that escape,

Like messengers to the conscience of a future self,

Take care, Take heart, Take each minute for its own.

The Light Behind

I love you,

Even though you will not remember,

Dangling from my wrists,

Around and around,

You must learn for yourself.

Vergennes Methodist Church Circular Excerpt

"We packed up the differences between us, possessions mostly: alarm clocks and magazines, the last of the tobacco paper, those coasters I never used. We left it all in two proud blue pieces of luggage, bulging at us from the centre of the room. I wondered for the briefest moment whether or not I should leave a fiver on top for the housekeeping, or the police, but my wallet was buried deep in the left bag and her hand was already around and pulling mine, and one of our hands was on the doorknob but I can't remember whose, and I can definitely tell you that the latch caught but after that I couldn't help you. If you want to know about my hands and feet, or her eyes and the way she laughs I'm an expert, but beyond that brother, you're up shit creek."

-Nathan Langley, September 1982, in response to being asked how he and his wife Molly had managed to live 116 years.

Seatlle

I was made fearless,

By the tempest that was,

And the firestorm you broke into,

As time stripped us down,

To solid truths.

Incantations

Dear,

Every scientific breakthrough,

And all the lives of the saints,

Don't get at me like you do.

Just keep whispering those tender,

Vital words around our lives.

"Will I see you again?"

In the Quiet Wind

Your long skirt

always spoke to me of

being lost and loved and loving,

billowing in a dream of our own making.

Something to be proud of.