This poem comes to you after three weeks that demanded much thought while I was traveling between Kansas City, New York City, Portland (and Cannon Beach) and Chicago. The amazing sunset that I saw while on the coast of Oregon felt like a destination--one that I'd set out to reach years ago--and as orange changed to yellow then flashed a spot of green before the chilly wind consumed the heat of the day, I felt like I'd arrived, perhaps more like I'd made it back. So, this poem really combines my thoughts about three women (you may see the different emotions that they've contributed): the one who has come back, the one who rarely leaves her tower, and the one who is silent.
This residue from a lifelong dream--
Like one fateful day in September,
When so much was lost,
And years of complacence
Were forever shattered.
No need to run again that race,
Despite great distance to finish,
For actualization trumps competition.
Like the vast sky above
Our run against time persists.
Blue sky and perfect weather--
These the daily wish--
Blind hope when we wake each day...
But not the dream. Not the dream.
Dreams are much more
Than what you see or where you are.
Dreams are not needs, but wishes
When we pray to a greater power, or
Wait anxiously to hitch upon a star, or
Try against might not to blink
As the wind takes over
What the sun left behind.
Dreams require effort to reach, by nature.
If you claim to live a dream each day,
You dare live too little, and
Dream not enough, I daresay.
Listless dreamer,
As you gaze dreamily
Into the comfort of your blue sky,
Dither not in autumn-scented flannel
Clutching a silk-lined blanket.
Seek instead, more special moments--
Instances of surprise and emotional grandeur--
That form the reasons we live,
Debatable inventions of our memories,
Wings of our tales.
I, too, long for my perfect sky,
Though I prefer all its emotions:
Lilies that stretch for the morning offer,
Tantrum of an angered wife,
Quiet rhythm of rain's elevator music,
Soul's tomb of alabaster silence.
Live to find surprise in these unpredictable moments,
And love them, like
I love to hear the staccato of your breath,
Inseparable spoons in a bed of feathers,
Holding each other like braided hair.
Verbal goodbyes though souls never part,
As we simultaneously look back over our shoulders
For one last, it’s-the-little-things wave.
These are the moments
When stars sit anxiously in the sky,
To watch us pass them by.
Image via WikipediaForever will I travel,
In orbit of your heart.
Compass that points,
North to the true you.
Long not to stay.
When we burn,
They fade away.
Some love to last,
Others just the day.
When I can’t breathe your breath
Or your lungs alive from mine,
Life grows fat with desperation,
This world that’s not in your eyes.
We are not to run that race again
Even when healed by time—
Good memories grown and bad wilted away—
Truthful dreams revive moments
Embraced in passion’s flame.
Each kiss a word on a page in a lifelong story
For us…
Between all the others.
Momentarily ever after.
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