Tag Archives: remembrance

In Memory of The Woman I Never Knew Whom I Have Known All My Life

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Her house for sale now

real estate sign face down on the lawn

implies more than declares

No one, I think, has checked for days

She has gone from there

I don’t know when

We mind our own business here

in quiet neighbourhoods

No matter we exchanged no words

I honour her now—-trespass sometimes required—-

I honour her now

stand before her house absent of her there behind the drape

I step across her early morning lawn

photograph this birdbath in spring sunlight

imagining she loved it once

enough to place it precisely there

equidistant from window and sidewalk

the private the public

and we smile our smiles

Talk is not needed here

the water has all gone to vapour.

 

 

Last Night I Dreamed of Leonard Cohen


Last night I dreamed of Leonard Cohen 

in silhouette on a park bench in Montreal 

he had a paper bag beside him 

in his hands he held nothing at all
I thought to just keep on walking 
as I have never met Leonard the man before 

but in the dream I look a place beside him 

and he asked me, “who’s been keeping score?”
In a hush, I answered, “I am still learning,

but, like you, I am not so sure of this game.” 

He smiled then so slowly as he buttoned up his coat 

“It’s alright now, you are not to blame.”
We watched as the moon turned to ashes 

its fragmented silver covering cool ground 

A cowboy drummer sprinkled orange peel 

served us steamed honour, words without sound.
From the bag, there rose up a bluebird 

spreading her wings as she soared for the stars 

An accordion player tipped his hat as he passed 

he was late for the night train to Mars.
Knowing without knowing the possibilities in dreams 

I sat next to the Poet Melancholy like a friend 

collecting silver sage for my own guarded house 

food and drink for my Garden of zen
I dreamed last night of Leonard Cohen 

and me sitting on a park bench in old Montreal 

a choir of two howling in dissonant harmony 

“Je ne regrette pas rien,” the final lament.
And I wondered if that was all could be true 

or if it was only circumstance made it so 

a rhythm maker’s journey through eternity 

gathering the heartbeat of the soul 

for reclamation to the Tower of Song.
[and now, a quiet goodnight. lift you soft in the pale November light.]

Silent Ghosts of Abundance

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I was huff running on a treadmill in the utilitarian grey zone

one of many in a row monitoring heart rates and breathing hard

listening to Hayden or Taj Mahal or maybe The Tragically Hip

who can remember when the setting is permanently on shuffle?

 

I was repeating a mantra something about the importance of anti-heroism

visualizing myself not a speed sprinter for speed is not in vocabulary here

but an enduring ego long distance never surrender steady on medium paced trotter

Light-footed I do not like the sound of a heavy stomp landing

 

I was watching through myopic eyes the silent stealth of the fit and semi fit and average

listening for the underbeat of a motivating cue and aware of free flowing thoughts

You you you holographs suspended in the ether I know you or knew you

Dormant for one hundred years but alive and well dancing in your effect

 

I cannot run forever going nowhere while staring straight ahead into the blur

Nor can I thank you now from this distance and with my voice grown so weak

Unless I believe you present for this fragment next to me after and through time

Yes maybe that’s all there is or what must do, good after gratitude is still gratitude

 

Where are you where am I scrolling light years between faces and half dreams

I welcome your resurfacing to remind me of all the memories hovering beyond reach

randomly appearing unbidden as I forget about trying to remember your names

You whose temporary life collisions held the keys unlocking doors of obstruction

gifted generously so I might pass this far intact. Cumulative and barely panting.