An Ode to Emily

My father’s words

Painful in their lovely way

Pierce all that I once knew

He says on high and mighty - this is true

“No matter you, your thoughts, your deeds

You commit with unintentional ease

My heart will shatter your warped needs

My roaring thunder will force you to your knees

My intoxicating sobriety -

A new way to breathe”

“I see now, I see!” I reply

As my colors fade white

As my eyes finally close -

Wondering if this god-like savior

Was really a demon wearing clothes?

His truth was mysterious

His language was real

I wish I could remember

All the rest he said

But too alive in death was I

To realize I was dead.

Spring Sings

The sun sings Spring’s music,

with floral notes in the breeze,

and rainwater on ruby rosebushes.

In continual consonance.

I have an ear

for human harmony and the cadence

of the creek’s cicadas at twilight,

and the clickety-clack of the train’s timbre,

that tenuous toe-tap,

that makes my childlike heart hum.

“Word-warriors sing with me,

in a new love-language.”

One, two, three.

“Only love is the steady beat,

everything else is disharmony.”

I write Spring’s words in the half-light.

“Only love both listens and sings.”

The background humdrum of yellow bees

greet me when I wake under a ceiling of trees.

In delicious dissonance.

I have a vivacious voice

but I go to the tree-trail

just to listen

to the yellow-bellied songbird sing.

Sunrise Pier