It is the eve of my birthday...

I spent the evening in the grass
Like I did when I was nine
Trimming in place of play
I ate a special meal, but skipped the pie
A documentary on 1864
Made me think of Georgia that July
And our most hallowed ground in Arlington
Where my father now lies
A lonesome whistle sounded a few miles away
As the evening train went by
It seemed the weeping wail of Johnny Cash
Was accompanying my Carolina prayer for my father
A choir of summer's insects joined the cry
To make it a lullaby
A strong full moon
Kept darkness' cell at bay
Long enough for a friend on the other side of the world
To send me an early birthday epistle
A reminder
That no life is lived in silence, solitude or darkness
Though the only evidence we know
Is a long lonesome whistle

Plenty of Fish

Yes, there are plenty of fish
Yet, they are fish
Scaly and gilled to their limited habitats
They mingle in parties
Beholden to cults and currents, these
Predators who are prey
Nibbling, nibbling on anything that might appease
Insatiable belly voids, this
Life who is lifeless
I see no Rodin at the gates
Merely flash, tail and feints
Amid soaking and fecundity

My Father's Japanese Death Poems

I stood in winter
Poised for the last release of
A bloom grasping life
Lies in silence, balanced and
Illuminated
Verse sprouts like spring, but read it
And nothing is there

Shocked

I have never seen eyes like yours before
So clear, bright and blue
It is the sky itself staring at me
Expressionless
Not a twitch or muscle moved
As if the clouds
Had frozen like a fox
Fixed in silent, suspended space
The heavens shocked
Discovered in earthly form
With locks of golden sun
Framing
My heart stopped
Lest it move
And that divine gaze, dart away