souliloquies

confidences

i have a picture in my head
i have no brush
i have no paint

vibrant water-colors spill
red vase black wall two figures

revealed by shadows
a rugged cheek and jaw
an eager shoulder rounding forward…

and, centered in the frame, a hand
falls gently over a trousered knee
long pale fingers testifying
to single-minded peace

fingers made to move
on steel strings so often move
in tense and angular beauty...
these fingers simply listen

and, listening,
that quiet hand--
so eloquent in luminous attention--
sounds a note lovely
as any it will ever play

i have no paint
i have no brush
i have the picture here, on the canvas of my heart

resigned

i sit in the one chair left for me, facing them.

so, you’re leaving us.

yes, i answer, lying.
in all but flesh, i’m already gone.
gone to a greener pasture
mists and mystery
promise and possibility.

how long, i think,
before my dreaming soul and
lagging body reunite?

june, i hope. july, perhaps.

too soon for them. too long for me.

while it’s good to know that i’ve contributed,
the weight of it—good as it was—
holds  me back, fills my mouth, ties me here.

it’s easier to leave if you make no mark.

my teeth buzz. the truck won’t start.

let me go!

my mind leans away from them
reaching for whatever waits beyond the mist,
in the damp and verdant hills.

dreaming of no longer needing to dream.


originally posted may 5, 2006