I don’t fear death
Not even being forgotten
I’ve had so much
Am grateful for so much
On a pandemic day in October 2020 I set out on a bike ride.
I don’t really ride my bike as much as I click in and drive it as hard as I am able.
Walt, I’m searching for you
On roads thick with Civil War dead
Among men and rotting limbs
Spring arrives in new greens
Wardrobe opening under foot and
Over head
There is a barrier in my garden
On the hillside, under the tallest tree
I built it to contain fallen branches and
Leaves and fresh mown grass
I can’t recall the 10th time or the 30th
Exactly
When coming here was this or that
There is paint on my thumbnail
As I eat breakfast at the airport
Early morning flight to New York
The flamenco music
Cuts the sultry night air at Cevíche
On Beach Drive in Saint Pete
There was some mention
Of new roots taking hold
In rich soil
Brush moving, off leash
Colors flowing like small rivers
In a warm downpour
Cascading down tawny orange wall
Into shallow pool framed in grey marble
Steady sound of water colliding with water
I try to listen so carefully
Imagining the sound
When white wings tighten
Peddling up the long hill
My lungs suck in warm air
And battle back with deep exhalations
Like a climber ascending toward distant summit
I was told that I can’t have a muse
That I don’t paint enough
I only smile at that and keep painting
Even in my mind, I keep painting
Every time I run
I think of you
Running in the woods
Confident, with no fear
I couldn’t sit
In the way of the Buddha
Yet my being remembered
I was not there
The sea
Arriving
Endless waves
Unceasing pulse
It wasn’t seen or heard
Moving swiftly hot flames licking
Only known to one
Victorian chimneys silently streaming
Ribbons of moist, warm air
In the dark of night
Straightened leg, arching foot forward
Into awaiting hands
Force pushing in opposition, kneading
Separating toes one from the other