Not Unique in Trying to Be

What is it we find in the end
that hasn't approached us so?
The crashing waves
at our vessel's hull
(china bowls skating from their decorated spots),
pounding hearts into pounding.
Fathers need tell
their sons to never stroll
in the corralling
flame by their lonesome.

Clack

Some things just sound pretty.

When Colors Wane (Return Again)

For a while now I had the suspicion that I'd fade away like the simplest memory. That at the end of a day sometime in the near future, I would become the diminishing recollection of a grandson I could not influence. It was almost too easy for me to consider my future, and to think back on my childhood youth, and all but realize that I could not return. I sense that few of us understand our departure from the naive imagination, however immature it was, and however misunderstood we were. We can never go back. I can never go back. And I'd argue that some of us feel that way: that we could return sometime in the next fifty years to those moments when we were twelve, passing the ball across the black top, running wildly into the grass, cartwheeling over clover patches, and digging around inside our desks, grabbing at objects that would allow our minds to wander away from what our teachers lectured about. But, no matter, I will awake tomorrow with the same misunderstanding: that I will become a child again, and that I will not fall apart like all things, and that when I ponder the empty spaces left on this earth, there will be something to fill them with architecture, with love, passion, propriety, fullness, and color.

From Dawn to Dust

I couldn't repair the world if I tried.

The foundations of fountains, forests,
-bridges suspended over bottomless
rivers. Those bodies like their own
suspension over cushions and pillows.
Soft things don't crumble like the hard.

And it's the hardest part,
and it's crumbling, the world in need
of repair.

O, where is the repairman?
Can anyone find him, to fix this mess.

Scoop with your hands boy! Collect
all you can, place it aside and scoop
some more!

But all the boy said,
"I couldn't collect all this dust if I tried."

And at that moment, something in
the molten core of the earth had vanished,
died.