the long grey box is shouldered 
from the Architect’s door
a sombre leaden march
filled with the silenced memories 
we like to keep

borne with the sadness of what is lost
and for those that witness
what inevitably will come
when we turn our back to the wind
one last time

‘goodbye dear friend’ they say
aging limbs and souls entwined 
a plea of longing in watery eyes
with glimpses of youth and lost paths
‘you’ll be hurried no more’

a soul flutters and falls
as the leaves must
bruised and bowed
in the greying autumn
a passing that cannot
be spared or wondered at
but embraced in the
comfort of its freeing
knowing that all things pass
so that all things will be renewed

I fold my fingers into yours
even as we are now
quietly distracted by other things
consumed by the richness of another’s words
comforted by the darkening day
we are true as new found waves
merging together on a known shore
you are always near
wrapped around me
a missing lover’s coat finally found

here lies Solomon Mundy
dead
he lived a peasant’s life
it’s said

his leathered skin
scrubbed once a year
and fortitude loosened
with a fist and a beer

he feared the stars
above his head
he feared the dark
he feared the dead
he feared the giver
of his daily bread

and if he could rise
from his darkened pit
and see how life today
was lit
he might crawl back
and stay below

let ignorance live
let knowledge go

I’ve always known how to be quiet
born to the space in-between
you stay at the water’s edge
watching the river rush by
and smile deeply at the distance of it
the upper airs are where you live
the cool unfettered breeze
a dance of light
a shadow passing through the trees

there’s an open strip of land
where seeds used to root
and fold their luscious leaves
into the richness of their birth

there’s a want in me
and a drop of sun and pearl of rain
will cheat the thought
that such deserts can be greened

I run my fingers still
through the softness of it’s earth
feel the fleeting shadowed ripeness
form again in my distant mind