Her

Her

I have heard them speak of her,
For the first time and the last.
Her syllables carried by the sea,
Past the old, picked-clean, bones
Of long forgotten suppers.
Past the slow hum of the whale
On his voyage of lullaby.
Through the deep,
To where the fishes flick their tails,
At the tangled weeds that try to stop them
And further still,
To where the waves foam at the shore,
Spilling their secrets to the sand,
Before Poseidon wakes,
And calls them back to him.

I have seen her tell her story,
For the first time and the last.
It has travelled through the telephone wires
As they dream of how it must feel
To be cello strings and ribbons . 
It has leapt into the birds who rest there
And called them to their wings.
I have seen her take her stand,
At the edge of the haunted forest,
Moving her hand like a blade
To cut down the trees,
Waiting until the echoes of the last falling ghost
Is finally over
And the air can breathe again,
Returning to its reverie, and its devotion
For almost all the lives it touches.

I have understood her reasons.
She was surrounded by tempests
While the sky grew dark.
Her daily work, like mine, was to reach inside them,
Holding herself steady,
To pluck their hearts out.
Even as the other storms howled their anger
At her daring.
I have seen how it must be.
For the first time and the last.
How the snowflakes danced outside her window,
Like fragile ballerinas,
And the sky gave itself to glories
In the shimmer of northern lights,
Though she was leaving.

We are all leaving slowly,
Letting go of the moments,
As they are given.
But she is gone.
The sisters and the brothers who remain
Must gather close together,
Must hold each other tight enough
To press their fears,
Like dried carnations,
Between the pages of their lives.
They must keep turning the leaves over,
Again and again
To find their stories written
After hers.
With words worth holding on for.

There is this
To be remembered at all times.
Even as the salmon moves upstream
And the sun melts itself into the ocean;
Time keeps his cards close to his chest.
We can never know
If he is holding aces
In our name

Winter

Winter

Sooner or Later

Sooner or Later