The Whole Way

The cadence of falling, years later – an ongoing familiarity of a groundless home.

Objects of endearment line the rising wall-scape and I no longer grab at them.

And I stop trying to stop.

Or get up.

There is only recession now.

On a walk, I acknowledge the knotted pine and I greet the maple whose time has come to tap. To steal time and put it in a jug; that makes sense? Is there any memory of the hard winters or autumn's risky red blushing when one pours it over oatmeal or pancakes or on bread? It's just one person's walk; one perception; one way of coping with the eternal lessening of bedrock. If I shuffle by long enough, perhaps it will all become ordinary and invisible – air for the senses to take for granted.

I'll morph towards the world
and the world towards me.

We will fit and fall faster
leaving treasures in the embankment -
stars of old light

Whatever is left,
our miraculous vapor.

Our wingspan
leaving trails
in the air.

To be whole for a moment only. That is life. Faith in the intangible. Falling forever. The holy continuance of communion, grabbing only each other . . .  

the whole way