Cold middle of night, fast heartbeat, friends
Christmas
I am close to becoming part poet again
If I live
Words coming from far beyond my mind
Stars
Mountain rocks where blue sheep toe tip tops
Or jazz
The bass line reminding me of love's hurt beat.
It will be a long night, but I can sleep late
Dream
Of work, or what I do together naked with
A woman
I have known. Sandstone mesas west of
Everywhere
Where the wind gives everything the shape of
Old bones
And your wounds heal from their insignificance.
We go on until we die, and we all someday
Die
Joining endless mindless space, and contributing our
Bodies
To pine-cloaked earth where if I had a
Memory
I'd remember edge of forest fires I had fought
And warm
My ghostly hands against the thought. But
No
Thoughts or memories remain except in minds of
Friends
And lovers who survive to lift their faces to
The rain.
Copyright 2001 & 2007 by Robert Ronnow.