Catching Rain
We are starlight.
We are stories.
We are an empty chair.
Please remember that I was there.
And you’ll remember me in silhouettes and muffled sounds,
Dreamscapes in which I’m the star,
Trying to catch rain with your hands
As I run past the corner of your eye,
Darting in and out of your conversations.
You will remember me.
I know you will.
We are starlight.
We are stories.
I will be an empty chair…one day
When I am no longer here.
Where will I be?
Trying to catch rain in my hands,
Sifting sands for clues,
Cold stars crowning my head,
I’ll be trying to get back to you.
To you.
To you.
I will remember you.
You know I will.
An empty chair that sings.
I will vibrate for you
In rivers rushing to the ocean,
In the breeze that whispers in oak trees,
In seashells that tell my story,
Softly.
I will shine for you
In soft sunlight in dappled streams,
In rainbows against the summer storm,
In all the glory that we made.
You will remember us.
I know you will.
An empty chair that weeps.
But move on.
Listen for me,
Look for me
But move on
And let me be starlight
And my favourite song
And let me fill the empty chair
With the fullness of you.
I will remember us.
You know I will.
We are stories
Come to pass
And the end takes us back to the beginning
And the cry of birth,
A new star bursts and I am not here.
I am everywhere.
Reveille
They danced
And she was a layer of silk away,
He could feel her heat
And the sound of trumpets dazed them.
Later,
Her back arched
And the arc of her scream
Tore through the Milky Way.
They had melded
With a savage grace,
Not a conquest but a treaty,
In declaration sung at high pitch.
Like two retreating armies,
They withdrew.
His rhythm had matched her heartbeat
And she knew,
She had found the drummer
To march her on
And the sound of trumpets dazed them.
The Hunter
It was supposed to be a rite of passage,
A slaughter to carry you to manhood,
The air was crisp
And the leaves were parchment dry.
Oh, you didn’t come up to expectations,
Oh, the rifle didn’t fit in your hand.
None of it felt right,
Felt like a jerk in a coonskin hat.
The deer was in your sights,
Lazily grazing,
You made a noise
And it looked at you dreamily.
Swinging the gun to the right,
The crack echoed to the sky,
The deer loped off to fight another day.
Father and you crunching back home,
Sun low in the sky.
He doesn’t speak,
Just gives you the look,
The look you know so well.
There was another forest
In a far off land.
You feel like a jerk
In an ill fitting uniform,
The gun doesn’t feel right
In your hand.
The moon is yellow,
The frost a dirty blue.
They said if you hesitate,
You’re dead.
The hunter and the hunted,
Face to face,
A sniper with a face but no name.
You dreamily look at him,
And the crack echoes to the sky,
Your heart stops in your chest
And flies back home.
Mother opens the telegram and screams.
Father says they sent a boy to do a man’s work.
Goes straight out to shoot rabbits in the dusk.
The moon is yellow,
The frost a dirty blue.
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