The tired shadows are restrained upright
Posed into semi-factual memory positions
The heart weeps, uncomforted by the display
The wasted life walks along the ocean shore
Unable to believe that nothing lasts forever
While the sand is drawn out into the waves

‘How many years?’, the delusional heart wonders
The wasted life continues in the stoic trance
And together they can no longer separate the now
From the passing moment when everything was alright
Tonight they will share the dream
They’ll drop the rose and time will stop
Lifetimes will pass by unnoticed
Red Petals as fresh and new as the first moment
They’ll fall in love from beginning to beginning

When they awake, the clocks will have spun backwards
The Rose will be sleeping on the stem unclipped
And the world will have passed away in the night

They’ll sleep in the Quiet Place undisturbed
Among the carefully arranged Rose farewells
Everything will be in order
The dream will remain
My sympathies
To you

She slept the living death beneath her sheets
I sat beside the window warm and curious
The parades and festival swirling in the streets below

In the basement a disorderly cook had left the oven
From the moon they must’ve seen the blaze
Dancing on the night sky as a fitting backdrop
To the long journey of Bacchus across the city

Red serpents probed the room from beneath the door
Dancing to the rabid drums upon the street
Consuming, growing, filling the room with smoke

I sat, curious, unwavered in my stare upon the dead
The serpent’s breath was not disturbed by her mouth
No breath shaped it, accepted it, pushed it away
I inhaled as deeply as I possibly could

The Blazing Star was leaning over the sky
Reaching down to the children of the Earth
Red plastic buckets and black flowers

From the east the storms were approaching
Knowledge always seeped from beyond that horizon
The Morning Star shining down His wisdoms

From shell to shell we hopped
Outgrowing, sleeping around
Then we found that the old sea torn barrel
Was still anchored into the corral floor

We dreamed that far away above the sea
There were places to sleep away the days
Where the stinging sea salt smells sweet
Far away past the crabs and the corral reef
Thirty thousand leagues; I’ve heard it rumored
A place where the sea salt dries and turns to sand
Dry feet in the very best kind of way

In the sea torn barrel we slept
The bubbles retreating to Shangri-La
We imagined them rising from the waves
Dried and warmed in the sun’s eyes
Lying in the sand somewhere with dry skin

We would follow if not for the comfort
Of the sea salt and the cold waters

It was just last week that I had driven to work as usual
Thankfully, none of that matters now out here in the desert
The long twilight preparing to resign to the unknown
I can tell she is beginning to feel it and nothing else

This House has been here for as long as I can remember
All the children would come here when school was finally over
A yearly pilgrimage of packed up cars, coolers, and baskets
I’m sure she remembered this too when she first arrived

This house has always had an unusual feeling about it
Almost home, but not quite, piano notes that felt significant
Playing backwards down the scale and continually starting again
I’m wondering if the feeling still interrupts her enjoyment here

The walls are covered in clocks of all shapes and style
I’ve been told my grandfather collected these pieces as a hobby
It seemed no two were ever on the same ticking beat
I’m wondering if she still hears the time poking at her

When all thirteen of us complete with families had arrived
We participated in the yearly exercises of greetings and lunches
This year has been different in only minor ways before tonight
She seems to have finally found that place, a little earlier than most

As the hours had passed, movement began to slow to a crawl
Thirteen clocks that were precariously in need of a simple turn
I felt like an arrow lodged quite well into the wooden floor
Her face seems to show no signs of worry or compassion

Earlier today I had grown somewhat concerned about her condition
And the twilight that would sweep her deep into the Samadhi
But as we talked I realized there is little I can do despite it
The fires don’t seem to be causing her any trouble now

It’s now nearly nine o’clock and the mixture of night and day
Has become less and less diluted with the waking hours
As expected, the House has grown increasingly quiet
She hasn’t shifted in what seems like many regular hours

From the far reaches of the desert the cold wind moves
It raises the hair upon my skin as it passes by untouched
I’ll probably remember it as a cold sea bath washing clean
All the baggage and sadness collected like clocks on a wall
It feels like a moment of complete silence without thought
When cognition is so foreign it is unrecognizable

The desert air feels unseasonably cool
Have I become smoke over the sand?
More like swimming than flying I’d say
Exhaled by the desert as bubbles
Pulled by strings back into the sky

My imagination tumbles inside my head
It is the only explanation I can offer
I feel spread thin across the sky

In town the chimneys will be working
Lazy clouds slowly climbing brick conversing
Until their destination is reached
And the sky’s icy fingers pull them away

We’ll walk along nearly empty streets
And notice that time itself has fallen dormant
Sleeping alongside the frosty windows
Littered with fanciful children’s drawings

Our bench in the park will be waiting for us
Secluded from the brick and cobblestone
Listening to the glass encased leaves whisper
We’ll take our seat, eyes half-closed
And I’ll ask you if you feel alright
My words will split in half
Echoing into the distance and dissipating
As vapor near the tip of my nose

We’ll find the place by that gnarled oak
Where the snow drifted forms a frozen grove
Where peace grows like unattended wildflowers
Where one final breath will heat the air
And I’ll lay asleep in the snow

In the town the chimneys will continue
Unnoticed with their seasonal labors
While you walk beneath the canopy
The man from the curio shop will sweep
Clearing the path for you

I will sail across the sky stretched thin
A cloud of smoke, fainter, then fainter yet
A single breath in frozen air
Then just an echo far in the distance