A California Spectral

Squirming words,
squabbling, fighting, reeling words
sore with myself.
so sore with myself
a world of regret,
begets
sorrow.

This absence of you
it's all I can do to write to you.
O! I wish I could turn words into wishes.
O! I wish my days would fall into line
my eyes rise for you
without the slightest disguise
for you.

 

This evening is so heavy, the rain has been & gone,
these days’ and nights’ penumbras,
turn into this swan
song,

 

My rose garden ally,
my sweet white flower of the May,
sits amidst the clouds above the drive
and is on its way

Rain drops cling to petals
rain drops sting my eyes
mist in the garden, whispers in the drive
like a jasmine surprise,
like softly seeping nuances of dread,
that echo here, in my head:

This end of days in Palo Alto,
such heavy music in the air,
this stretching of reality,
when we're shadowing our shadows,
with words remembering words:
these memories flare
in the living air,
and then none of us are there.
Absurd! 

A Personal Reflection on Jerry Garcia's 70th Birthday

◄ As if you had a choice

Tankaesque ►

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