Charleston

A stop on the road to our fate,

A layover of lasting longing
that echoes off the past we learned
about that morning beneath a
blanket, following the scent of
horses and the wonder of finding
books thought lost. You dropped into sleep
as I read, your head in my lap,
Briefly feeding an honestly
acquired deprivation. Then,
an ancient cemetery after
dark, with such life radiating
from us we wondered if it could
reach those below upon whose
decaying drudgery we now
danced, surrendering our gasping
realities to return to dust
with them. We departed with hands
and hope holding, forgetting the
afterlife the dead often acquire.
We were followed by smallish hauntings
Of that which we tried to bury…
Ghosts of Charleston on a pilgrimage
To Alabama.

Tin Roof Rain

Furrowed fields and harvest heaped

on storehouse floors strewn,
but life is not the only gift we
cannot lease to own.

Time belongs to no mere man
he only sees it through.
My time is gone, my yield awaits
my only hope is you.

Gather what has freely fallen,
what I’ve left behind.
I am in your human hands
but once you were in mine.

I took care to clutch your fate
as only I could hold.
I ask you now to grasp my past,
my story must be told.

Should you choose to walk away
so much will be in vain.
You are things I never dreamed.
I am tin roof rain.

I will fall and fall again,
like water drumming down.
reminding you there’s a melody in
yesterday’s sweet sound.

Today is good and may tomorrow be,
but don’t forget the song
that rings each time the rain falls down
please, won’t you sing along?