Who are you? I say.
I am no one, she replies,
and everyone.
I ask, What does death mean?
It means a life
and nothing more.
I ask what she misses most
about being alive.
Nothing, she says,
except everything.
I ask if all the dead
become ghosts.
No, she says, many dissolve
like tears in the ocean.
I ask if the dead
count the time.
Time, she says, is the
Landlord, you are
a squatter.
I ask if dead
souls live forever.
I will ask the fire,
she says, if the ashes
remember it.
I was a captain of the sky
clouds around my head
like a laurel wreath
eyes fixed on the cresting moon
elbows dancing, and then
in the spark of an instant
lost, all lost,
just a vague memory
until time scrubs the words
from this stone
Spring is here
the sun rises early
and scoots across the sky
slowing only for high noon
Spring is here
the hawk patrols his highway
field mice scatter
songbirds bicker in the bushes
Spring is here
something – a flower, a tree –
pushes up through the
loose soil of a grave
Spring is here
Thank you, Sister Moon,
for lighting our hearts
in the deepest night.
Thank you, Sister Moon,
for guiding the Sun
on its relentless arc.
Thank you, Brother Sun,
patient behind the rim of morning
awaiting your time to rise.
Thank you, Brother Sun,
for your terrible light
upon good and evil alike.
Thank you, Mother Earth,
for embracing the dead
we discard along with our dreams.
We children, both of
darkness and light.
In my mind’s lens, my father’s
Face is smooth and petrified
Like an ancient lake
Steeped in mountains
It’s true, isn’t it,
There can be only one infinity
This is impossible:
Life without limits
Moons exist for no one
Though everyone thinks
They’re just
For dreaming
Question, they say, all of it,
Take nothing as given,
Give nothing up, erase all
Boundaries, be eternal.
He tried, and I tried after him.
Only we didn’t know
His freedom was my razor wire,
My freedom was his failure.
exiles child 