Gone

--For Uncle Don

When the call came in
on the Sunday morning you left us
it was more than I expected.

Gone.
Like a piece of mail
lost among the papers
and slick colorful ads.

Gone.
Like a private thought
not shared with others,
held close to the heart
so as not to hurt.

Gone.
An old joke told
where we all laugh
but don't know why
it was funny.

Gone.
Like the departing summer
trapped in the fog that gathers
near the earth at twilight
only to burn away with the sun.

I say words
that I have said a million times
and I can feel you so near
I wait for you to walk up the stairs                  
with some important bit of news
to crush this silence.

Like you were here.
Like you were smiling.
Like you had finally won
the race against all time.

Like you

were never

gone.

                                    

Growling Dark

So much
of where I have been
nips at my heels
like a hungry hound
who won't let me forget.

Some day,
like this day,
I will be even more
hungry and tired
as I reach into my pack
for some shaft of light--
some morsel I might share
with these ragged bones.

Knowing history,
my scent stronger than ever,
I will be discovered easily--
paws clicking on stones
near me.

At a cautious stop
near the summit
the sack I carry
will be nearly weightless--

only crumbs
and grains of sand 
to carry to the peak
as I follow my own karma
into the growling dark.

Flutter

Days flutter and curl around me
like butterflies flirting with flowers

before flying south.

I close the lids of my eyes
and open my heart and mind

in the breath that brings peace.

There is no fluster or fussing here.
I am silent as these wings

where everything has gone
quietly home.

Overcome

I am aghast
with belief
in the days
that dissolve
and crumble quietly
before my eyes.

A fever has overcome me
and only faith in the unseen
can cure this heat that has come up
in the center of all of who I am.

I am the prairie on fire
in the winds of each moment.

The Coins of My Good Fortune

Paint a picture
of a life worth spending
and shiver at the possibilities.

The coins
of my good fortune
will not last
in these travel clothes;
my boots worn thin
by so many miles.

The silver jingles
and is meant to be given
to the poorest days
who hold out their hands
for something more.

I cinch my belt tighter
and gather the courage
to walk with focused joy
toward the destinations

where I collapse
in laughter

and no reward
is greater
than abundant kindness.