Haze and Mist

A trivial page to the world, one less important than an obituary, where warm smiles are caught in grey pictures  of  people  once living  and  warm,  now  cold and dead. That page is my residence. Beneath forty four dusty almanacs scattered across time’s table and the passage of years.

                                 I waited for it to go,   the minute.  The long minute.  A sky-wide moment,  Just a minute. 

Like the last orange On an impersonal grey,  A sinking sun-curl Far far away.  Soon the night will fall,  It will gobble-up all.  Rest, with her black spell,  man, to wake another day. 

An airy quality   b uoys me up Barring my brave plunge Into the abyss of love....

Where are my childhood heroes? Tall giants all, Bull-frogs in local pubs,  Bards who sang Adventure and heroism From far-out lands, On sandy beaches drew Makalu and Manaslu; Or sitting on dunes Dream again of oceans Where they said they swam With silver mermaids And chased white unicorns In Takamanohara. I grew wings  On their dreamings...  But today Where are they now that I wish to compare my myth  With their fibs?

I heard that you have gone To join our ancestors. We will see you from now on In memories or in pictures. All these odd years You were  to me but loss... Yes, loss!  Now as my own living wears,  from vacant fields across  I hear your cheerless call. Sometimes I longed to refashion a happier you; Freeze time up  but all I remember is tension — An irredeemable pall rises up,  A cold pity, without a good reason. 

Parting  i s a gift. If part   You must  Like ashes   and dust Then part  u nbroken. It is a n Art. ** Funerals are Those long   rituals.  The needless drama Only to drop a   body  to  a pit's  h ungry  stones,  some skin, some bones.  ** And let's now   come to you   and I.  We  drifted  a part like  p aper boats i n puddles   dried in sudden sun   after  a very good monsoon .