Still Life

The light has come to wake once more

Against the day that moves outside,

The air is dried inside the room,

The books are where they always were.


The blood that shrugs to life again,

Pulls the tide to sob with regret,

The ancient strides that still don't last,

Fill with age when he steps away.


He sifts the ash of a late fire,

No dust floats from the iron grate,

Runs back to where it always was,

Fragile, laid in just the place.


The room is sealed the door set hard,

What is will be continued,

Those that wait will be obeyed,

The dust is set where it ought to stay.


Still life takes place when no one looks,

In this green room he has been placed,

To know and wait and take back time,

From those who took him to this place.

Going for a Fall

I sometimes cry when I see photos of my daughter,

Hair a tumble of golden locks at two,

The first time she ever stopped running

Staring down at her first pair of shoes.

Now what do you expect me to do?



Before that we would take her for our walks,

Packed up on my back she would pat my happy head

Until the sway of my stride would loosen her lock on awake;

Her body blissfully slooped in the trust

That there was nothing more natural than to be a two year old giant

Dreaming of the hills dividing before her huge steps



Knowing that no men can stand colossus for ever

I sometimes think she deserves better, she should always know

There is a man whose frame is iron, whose back is unbreakable;

Convinced his strength will hold her massive in the sky forever.

But as two turns to twelve the stride shortens a foot slower and the sky declines,

And dreams? The unconscious ecstasy of a trance like man.



But to watch her know is a garland not all fathers hold.

My own is immortal under the sun,

Flesh muscled, massive stature, though he died alone.