The Watcher

Ships at a distance have every man's wish on board.  For some they come in with the tide.  For others they sail forever on the horizon, never out of sight, never landing until the Watcher turns his eyes away in resignation, his dreams mocked to death by Time.  That is the life of men.  - Zora Neale Hurston



By eight every morning
the secrets of the Golden Hour hide themselves within the earth
or else evaporate into the heavens leaving me bereft and bemused by noon never satiated:

a wrinkled remote raisin in the sun
The same sun that beckons to me every evening:
the orange octopus that prods me with its tentacle rays
hoping to eat me alive ere it descends into the depths of the West

On many a night I wish to be taken
to drive through the night without reason because few things rhyme in this life

To drive as an insomniac
through state after state of being forsaking
everything I've seen want to see and wish to see again

To arrive in time to see the octopus give birth to another sunset over the Pacific

***

I walk under a sky
rife with ruby yellow topaz and aquamarine
into a sea scintillating with emerald sapphire and amethyst

In the distance
the sun shines through my ship's sails
with the clarity of a diamond and in this moment
I am surrounded by life's precious gems with my wish within reach

To drive

To arrive

To swim and find my anchor

To drown and find the jaguar shark

Influenza

We've run through the gamut of symptoms:

The high fever when we first met
      flushed in the face with watery eyes
            feeling weak in the knees with elation

Then came the incessant headaches
      short-winded grumblings after each dry cough
            sore throats from yelling cursing and suppressing tears

Yet we carry on bed-ridden skin-soaked
      stuck in a perpetual state of hot and cold spells
            feeling frayed tattered and torn like the first Farmer's Almanac
         

Variation on Vivaldi

WINTER

Out of mother's womb
into a snow-white room with
tree-like silhouettes:

family members,
nurses, doctors – camera
flashes – too much sun

for first day we cry
bewildered freeze frame upload
“Aww so cute!” repeat.

SPRING

One more rainy day,
April showers trickle on
into May.  We trace

dandelion trails
into enchanted forests
Where the Wild Things Are

forever in sap.
Ooze stop – our legs crossed in beds
of forget-me-nots.

SUMMER

Sipping apple juice
from the Tree of Knowledge in
the Tree of Life's shade,

toasting to bloodlines
lost, drunk like Dionysus
with the delusion

we're immortal still,
knowing damn well youth fades like
a cicada's song.

AUTUMN

Crepuscular rays
set the leaves ablaze for the
last Golden Hour.

Looking to the west,
we hold our breath until we
turn red in the face,

holding on till the
last – though we've all been told of
life beyond the rake.

April/May/June (Puberty)

One more rainy day,
April showers trickle on
into May.  We trace

dandelion trails
into enchanted forests
Where the Wild Things Are

forever in sap.
Ooze stop - our legs crossed in beds
of forget-me-nots.

March (New Babylon)

Hear grand Father speak
Unleash la primavera
Modern man confused

See grand Mother work
A metropolis per day
Modern man jealous

February

Rows and rows of trees
Exposed and ashamed: my sins
Awaiting spring's bloom

And boon of cover -
But it is nothing more than
A green frontispiece

December/January

Santa smiles and sips
From vintage coke bottles while
I take mine with rum.

Ho humming, I ask
Siri: Where did last year go?
Bitch tells me: Ask God.